


Harry Potter and the Year of Settling In

by KZ55



Series: The Best School in the World [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Gen, Gryffindor Hermione Granger, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Rivalry, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts First Year, Hogwarts Inter-House Friendships, Hogwarts Inter-House Rivalries, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Original Character(s), POV Harry Potter, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Quidditch, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherin Susan Bones, Slytherins Being Slytherins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25275382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KZ55/pseuds/KZ55
Summary: Harry Potter's been away from the wizarding world for nearly ten years. So now that he's back, he's ready to get out there and learn to the best of his abilities.Mysterious bank-package? Not interested. All that matters is getting settled into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and perhaps leave the Dursleys for good as well.
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass & Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter, Susan Bones & Harry Potter
Series: The Best School in the World [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1439215
Comments: 19
Kudos: 74





	1. Diagon Alley

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing in the Harry Potter franchise. All such content belongs to J.K. Rowling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing in the Harry Potter franchise. All such content belongs to J.K. Rowling.

"Good Lord, is this – can this be –?"

"Yep. Looks jus' like his dad, don' he? Mark my words, Tom, yeh're lookin' at one o' the best students Hogwarts's ever seen."

You could probably hear a pin hit the floor at that moment, as the Leaky Cauldron went completely silent at the sight of Harry Potter.

"Bless my soul," said Tom the bartender, dropping his voice to a whisper. Then, with tears in his eyes, he rounded the bar and rushed past Rubeus Hagrid to shake Harry's hand. "Welcome back, Mr Potter, welcome back!"

Everything became a blur of meet-and-greets for Harry then. There were so many names and faces that by the time most of the crowd had finally dispersed, Harry could barely remember 'Dedalus Diggle', 'Doris Crockford', and some nervous-looking young man named 'Professor Quirrell'. Last but not least, however, was some heavy-jawed, curly-haired witch in magenta robes who stepped out of the corner.

"So, this is the Boy Who Lived, eh?" she said, eyeing Harry up and down in a sort of appraising manner. "You're a bit smaller and skinnier than I'd've expected, dear. Would you like some tea, biscuits, cake, or perhaps a peanut-butter-and-jam sandwich?"

"No thanks," said Hagrid, pulling Harry just about a foot or two away from the curly-haired woman. "We'd best be on our way, Harry. Got lots ter do, y'know?"

But the witch, whoever she was, hardly seemed to care for Hagrid's busy schedule. She introduced herself as "Rita Skeeter – reporter for the _Daily Prophet_ " and requested a quick interview with Harry, much to Hagrid's part amusement, and part annoyance.

"Fer what?" Hagrid asked. "He's barely even a first-year. Jus' had his eleventh birthday yesterday, in case yeh didn't know."

Something about Hagrid's statement seemed to spark a near manic look on Rita Skeeter's face. "Oh, really? Well then, Harry, what did those Muggle relatives of yours buy you, hmm? Not new clothes, that's for sure. And how often do you even eat –"

"All righ', that's enough questions, that," said Hagrid, almost seizing Harry by the shoulder and steering him away. "Harry's go' nothin' ter say ter you unless it's a good, honest question."

"At the very least," said Skeeter, "how about giving Miss Skeeter a photograph, Harry?" And then she snapped her fingers, causing some paunchy man to step forward from Harry's left. He was carrying a large black camera, and took up position in the middle of the room – facing Harry and Skeeter. "This is Bozo, my photographer."

Bozo gave a sort of casual salute to Harry.

"So," Skeeter added, "how does it feel to take your first steps back into our world, Harry? Feeling excited? Confident? Anxious?" Her grin faded into a flat, stern expression. "Or confused as to why you were kept out of it in the first place, by Albus Dumbledore?"

"Wait, what?" Harry asked, and Hagrid grunted.

"Now wait jus' a second there –"

"And what house do you think you'll make at Hogwarts?" Skeeter asked. "There's Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Take your pick. Oh, and how do you feel about being led around by the gamekeeper instead of, say ... the Deputy Headmistress herself?"

"You've go' ten seconds ter take tha' photograph ..."

At that, Skeeter knelt down beside Harry, opened his fringe nice and wide (so as to show his scar), and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. Then she told him to smile as the camera flashed and emitted a puff of smoke.

"Ah, such a lovely picture with Diagon Alley behind us," Skeeter said, and when Hagrid began leading Harry away, Skeeter spoke rather loudly to her photographer. "Makes you wonder why he's so nervous, doesn't it? Hardly said a word ..."

Hagrid, meanwhile, grumbled something about Albus Dumbledore being a 'great man', and Rita Skeeter being little more than a 'nosy troublemaker', while leading Harry out into the small, walled courtyard behind the pub. Bemused, Harry didn't know what to do as Hagrid did some counting and tapping at the brick wall, which opened to reveal a large archway.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley," said Hagrid, grinning as Harry's mouth fell open at the sight of the cobbled street ahead. "See tha' firs' shop over there? Whadda yeh think we use 'em cauldrons fer?"

Harry had seen these things before in children's books, though he wasn't sure if they worked the same way in real life. "Maybe to make magical drinks or something?"

Hagrid chuckled. " _Potions_ , Harry. Better no' get it wrong in front o' Professor Snape – Potions master at Hogwarts."

There were far too many buildings for Harry to even count around here. He glimpsed an owl emporium, an apothecary (from which a nasty smell of rotten eggs emanated), a 'Quidditch' shop, a place selling 'robes for all occasions', a bookstore, a huge snowy-white building; and most importantly, an ice-cream parlour.

"Hagrid," Harry said as they passed the ice-cream shop, and approached the towering white building, "can we get some ice-cream?"

"Gotta take care of some Hogwarts business first, not ter mention gettin' you some money. Ah, here we are – Gringotts Wizarding Bank."

But Harry wasn't entirely interested in a simple bank at the moment. Sure, the place had a fancy poem engraved on its inner doors ("... yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," said Hagrid), and a vast marble hall inside, but Harry's thoughts were consumed by the ice-cream parlour outside.

"Morning," Hagrid said to a free goblin, while walking up to the long counter in the hall. "We've come ter take some money outta Mr Harry Potter's safe."

"You have his key, sir?" the goblin asked.

"Yeah, sure. Got it righ' here somewhere ..."

Minutes later saw Harry and Hagrid passing through the security-check stage and walking to one of the doors leading off the hall. Some goblin then took them deeper into the bank before whistling to summon a small cart up the tracks. Was this a bank or an underground theme park? The cart steered itself through a maze of tracks which went on and on until, finally, stopping at vault six hundred and eighty-seven.

The goblin unlocked the door, and a wave of green smoke came billowing out. And as the smoke cleared to reveal a sharp, metallic smell – Harry gasped at the sight of countless, gleaming columns of bronze, silver, and golden coins stacked inside his vault.

"All yours," said Hagrid. "The little bronze ones are Knuts, remember? Twenty-nine of 'em makes a silver Sickle, which needs seventeen ter make a gold Galleon."

All Harry could do was nod, and then he turned to face the goblin beside him. "Erm, how much money is in here?"

It took the goblin almost a minute to summon a piece of parchment, from which he read: "Eleven thousand, five hundred and fifty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, and twenty-one Knuts in total." (The parchment basically showed _'G: 11,557. S: 15. K: 21_ '.) And then he gave a brief overview of Fleamont Potter's hair-care potion, Sleekeazy's, which had played a large role in shaping the Potters' wealth over the years.

"Wow, I didn't know –"

"Let's move on to more pressing matters, shall we?" the goblin said, gesturing for Harry and Hagrid to return to the cart, once the withdrawal had been done. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen next."

When was this cart-trip ever going to end? All Harry could think about was getting himself some ice-cream, as the cart now made its way even deeper into the bank. The air grew colder as Harry, Hagrid, and the goblin descended the tracks and hurtled round one tight corner after another. And then they went rattling over an underground ravine before, finally, stopping at vault seven hundred and thirteen.

It had no keyhole.

"Stand back," said the goblin. "Only a Gringotts goblin is permitted to touch these doors. Anyone else would be sucked in and trapped, and we only check for thieves about ... once every ten years, I think." He grinned in a nasty, tooth-baring manner. "And don't even bother with Disapparition or any other wand work in here."

"Dis-what?" Harry asked, scratching his chin while looking at Hagrid.

"Come an' go almost anywhere you want. Apparition's appearin', Disapparition's disappearin'. Wish I could try 'em."

So it was like 'teleportation' stuff, then, Harry figured. Wait, what was Hagrid even collecting so far down here? Harry ceased his daydreaming and tried to get a better look inside the vault, but all he could see was some grubby-looking package wrapped in brown paper.

"What's that?"

"Hogwarts business," Hagrid said, tucking the mysterious package deep within his coat. "Righ', time ter ride tha' infernal cart again. No talking ter me, OK?"

* * *

With the bank-trip over, and Harry now standing with a bag full of jingling money, Harry didn't know where to start. Well, actually he did. He was going to help himself to the biggest ice-cream cone that money could buy; far bigger than anything Dudley had ever had, that's for sure.

"Might as well get yer uniform first," said Hagrid, nodding towards Madam Malkin's store. "Listen, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a" – the corners of his mouth twitched – "'magical drink' in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts. Makes me sick ter me stomach."

As much as Harry couldn't wait to put on some wizarding robes, he'd much rather put something in his stomach first. Something sweet and cold, of course. "OK, but I want some ice-cream first," he said.

"No problem. Professor Dumbledore said yeh're free ter wander round the main street." And that was when a sudden, stern look came across Hagrid's face. "Which means no headin' off too far, especially not inter Knockturn Alley, you hear?"

"How come?"

"'Spose you could say there's all sorts o' nasty, dangerous folk down there," Hagrid said while walking away. "You keep safe, all right?"

Oh, Harry was definitely going to keep safe, all right. He'd keep those ice-creams nice and safe in his belly. So without further ado, he crossed the street and stepped into Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour. The parlour had a black-and-white chequered floor, a creamish theme, a long display-counter running along the right side of the room, and various tables scattered across the left – as well as outside.

"Erm, can I have two extra large, long-lasting chocolate ones, please?" Harry asked Mr Fortescue. For a moment, Harry wondered why he wasn't getting any special attention, and then he remembered having hidden his scar as much as possible behind his fringe.

"Eight Sickles and twenty Knuts," Fortescue said behind the counter, and Harry smiled. Not only were these ice-creams far better than the rubbish that Dudley and his gang often ate, but they also took much longer to melt outside – provided that one paid for the spell service. Harry wished that he could take them to number four, Privet Drive and see the look on his blond pig of a cousin's face right now (the Dursleys did manage to get off that island, right?).

Speaking of blond, Harry had just about finished his first ice-cream when he saw a snobbish-looking boy exit the robes store, opposite the ice-cream parlour. The boy had sleek, blond hair; an annoyingly arrogant, nose-in-the-air kind of look, and was carrying a bag of robes while walking towards the neighbouring bookstore. Then he stopped and stared as Hagrid came up the street, towards Harry.

"Ah, tha' hit the spot! Got yer robes yet?"

"Not yet," said Harry. "Why's that boy staring at you like he's in a zoo?"

"Huh? Oh, now I see." Hagrid narrowed his beetle-black eyes as a taller, long-haired version of the blond boy exited the bookstore, with a bulging bag in hand. "That there's Lucius Malfoy, school governor, which means the lad's his son. We'd best get a move on before they start trouble."

"Why?"

Harry's question made Hagrid stroke his beard, in thought. "Well, let's just say tha' those are the sort o' people who believe in 'blood purity' above all else. If yeh're neither rich nor a 'pure-blood', then yeh're no' gettin' their respect."

"Am I a pure-blood?"

"No, yeh're a half-blood. Yeh need at least yer parents and their parents ter be magical fer you to be called a pure-blood." Hagrid frowned. "But even so, people like the Malfoys have a more ... _extreme_ view. That classification's no' good enough fer them."

Harry gave a slight sigh.

"Doesn't matter in the end, though," said Hagrid. "Professor Dumbledore's a half-blood, an' he's the greatest man there is. Best wizard, too."

"I wish I was a pure-blood," said Harry, and Hagrid snorted with a laugh.

"Now yeh're jus' being silly, Harry. Ter tell yeh the truth, a lot o' those sort are jus' a bunch o' hypocrites in the end. Some of 'em even went ter school with You-Know-Who himself, so they knew he was a half-blood." And before Harry could even express his amazement, Hagrid added: "Bes' keep tha' ter yerself, though. Don' go lookin' fer trouble."

"I'm not sure if I can finish this one," Harry said while looking at his unlicked, second ice-cream cone. "D'you want it?"

"Sure. Why not?"

Truth be told, Harry was well up to finishing that second cone. He just felt like giving it to Hagrid.

Next on the list was a trip to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, across the street. Here, Harry got his uniform sorted in less than five minutes, after which he exited the store and came across the scene of Hagrid speaking to the two Malfoys.

"... so what if I'm taking a student around Diagon Alley?" Hagrid asked Mr Malfoy, who had the same, arrogant expression as his son standing beside him on the pavement. Harry could tell that the Malfoys weren't keen on making a scene out in public. "If yeh've go' summat ter say, take it up with Professor Dumbledore, not me."

Mr Malfoy spoke in a cold, stern manner. "That will not be necessary, although I'm sure the rest of the governors would be interested to know that Dumbledore's methods are growing stranger by the day. One would expect the" – he wrinkled his nose a bit – "'newcomers' to be led around by someone from the Ministry or, at the very least, the Deputy Headmistress."

"Enjoy yer day," said Hagrid, to which Mr Malfoy turned on his heel and strode off down the road.

The Malfoy-boy, however, barged into Harry with his shoulder and muttered "See you at Hogwarts, _Mudblood_ " before joining his father. They were then joined by a tall, blonde-haired woman who Harry reckoned was probably Mrs Malfoy (or perhaps she was Mr Malfoy's sister, Harry couldn't care less).

"Take my advice," said Hagrid, once the coast was clear, "an' don' mix with tha' lot. People like You-Know-Who an' the rest are why Slytherin's got such a bad reputation."

"That's one of the Hogwarts houses, right?" Harry asked, having remembered Rita Skeeter's words from that morning.

"Yep. An' there's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin."

"So you're saying that all Slytherins are bad, then?"

They were walking towards the front of Flourish and Blotts when Hagrid stopped. He paused for thought, and said, "Hmm, maybe not _all_ of 'em. That's not what I meant." Then, when Harry told of the Malfoy-boy's barging comment, Hagrid went red in the face. "He said tha' ter yeh, eh? Well, joke's on them once Skeeter puts yeh on the front page. 'Course, I'm surprised Lucius and Narcissa didn't see yer dad in you, seeing as he was at school with 'em fer a bit."

"So what does 'Mudblood' mean anyway?"

" _Never_ say tha' word. It's probably the worst thin' yeh can call a Muggle-born, which you obviously aren't."

Harry's trip to the bookstore went quite well. He ended up buying everything he needed for the year – and nothing more. Then came a trip to the cauldron shop, followed by the smelly apothecary, the owl emporium (where Harry got a beautiful, snowy white owl as his birthday present), and then, finally, they approached a small, shabby building on which _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC_ was written in peeling gold letters above the door.

"This is it," said Hagrid, whose broad grin matched the excitement Harry felt within himself. "Time ter get yeh wand. Nervous?"

"A little. What if they don't work for me?"

"The son o' Lily an' James Potter not gettin' a wand? Codswallop. I'd sooner eat me hat."

"But you don't have a hat."

"You know what I mean," Hagrid said, chortling as they stepped one after the other through the door. A tinkling bell rang somewhere deep within the store. The very dust and silence in this place seemed to tingle with some secret magic. And no sooner had Harry and Hagrid arrived than some elderly gentleman came up to the counter – his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of his shop.

"Good afternoon," Mr Ollivander said in a soft voice. "Ah yes. I wondered when I'd be seeing you, Harry Potter. It seems only yesterday your parents were in here themselves, purchasing their own wands ..."

Harry stood dead still before the counter. The topic of his parents once again brought a warm, fuzzy feeling to his chest – especially as Mr Ollivander spoke at length regarding Lily's and James's wands. But when the topic turned to the wand which gave Harry his scar, he felt his insides turn cold as ice. Fortunately, Mr Ollivander then acknowledged Hagrid before moving on to completing Harry's measurements.

"All right," Mr Ollivander said. "Let's put that owl somewhere safe, and then we'll see which of these wands will end up choosing you, Mr Potter."

The time had come to see whether or not Harry was as worthless as the Dursleys had often said. He waited for Mr Ollivander to store the sleeping owl in the back of the shop, and then he readied himself for the big test ahead. Surely Harry wouldn't need to perform some sort of magic, right?

"Here we are," said Mr Ollivander at the counter. "Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nice and flexible. Nine inches. Just give it a wave."

Nothing happened after Harry tried his first wand, after which he failed to produce anything of note with two subsequent wands. On and on it went until Harry stepped back and took a seat beside Hagrid in the corner. Perhaps he needed a quick rest?

"Think I'll take a break," Harry said.

"Yeh can't get tired from tryin' out wands or doin' magic," Hagrid said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "Jus' keep tryin' and yeh'll find the righ' one soon enough. Mr Ollivander's never failed ter match a wizard with their wand."

"No, it's fine," said Harry. "Maybe I'll watch someone else get theirs instead. Might learn a thing or two."

Hagrid frowned. "But who knows how long it'll take 'till the next person shows up? This ain' exactly a pub, y'know." Then he looked at Mr Ollivander and said, "No offence, sir."

"None taken," said Mr Ollivander. "Let's give it ... ten minutes, perhaps. Today has been quite busy after all."

While Harry and Hagrid sat waiting for the next customer to show up, Mr Ollivander went about his business at the back of his store ("I'm no' waitin' more than ten minutes," Hagrid said). Then, about six minutes later the door opened to reveal two girls around Harry's age. One had black hair, greenish eyes, and a face that looked slightly like a pug, and the other had long blonde hair, and blue eyes. They were followed by a tall, elegant-looking woman – whose black hair was tied in a bun, and a girl who was probably two to three years older than Harry. She had long black hair, blue eyes, and a well-defined face.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Parkinson," Mr Ollivander said as he arrived at his counter. "Two wands, I take it?"

"Indeed," said Mrs Parkinson. "One for my daughter, Pansy," – she gestured to the pug-faced girl – "and the other's for Daphne over here." She gestured to the blonde. "She's my cousin Garrett's eldest."

"Hi," said Daphne, with a slight wave to Mr Ollivander. "Can I go first, sir?"

"No, I'm going first," said Pansy Parkinson. She nudged her way past Daphne (Parkinson?) and stood up straight in front of the counter. "Mr Ollivander, sir, I'm older than her by two months and nine days. And she got a bicycle before me."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Daphne asked, but Mr Ollivander decided to let Pansy go first anyway. Pansy got measured and tried merely four wands until causing a bright blue spark with an ebony wand. It was ten-inches long, had a dragon-heartstring core, and was said to be 'swishy'. Daphne went up next and tried six different wands until eliciting a streak of red light with a twelve-inch walnut wand. It had a dragon-heartstring core and was said to be 'whippy'.

"Ha, ha, you're 'whippy'," said Pansy, and Daphne giggled.

"And you're swishy ... like a fishy!"

At that moment, Mr Ollivander's silvery eyes settled upon the third girl in the room. "How are things over in France? Beauxbatons treating you well?"

The girl nodded. "I came second in our duelling tournament last term. Third-year division."

"Second to who, might I ask?"

"Fleur Delacour. She's about this tall," – the girl placed her hand at her shoulder level, which was a few inches above Harry's head, were he to be standing there – "and a right proper snob. I think she's got Veela hair in her wand."

Mr Ollivander looked taken aback for a moment, and blinked. "Veela hair often makes for a temperamental wand, Miss Parkinson."

"Just like its owner, yeah." The Parkinson girl waited for Mrs Parkinson to pay for the wands. Then she said her goodbyes and followed the trio out onto the bustling street.

Mr Ollivander turned to Harry and said, "It took Alyssa Parkinson an exceptionally long time to find her wand. Shall we continue?"

"How come she bought hers here if she's in France?" Harry asked. "Aren't there any wandmakers there?"

"She transferred, of course," Mr Ollivander said. But before either he or Hagrid could say anything further, the door opened to reveal a curly-haired girl and her father.

"Let her go first," Harry whispered.

"We'll be here all day," Hagrid said. Still, it didn't seem as if he was about to get upset with Harry anytime soon. "Oh, all righ', then. But make this the last one, OK?"

Harry nodded.

"Daddy," said the girl who'd just entered the store. "Can we go to Hogwarts after this?"

The girl's father suppressed his chuckle, and said, "Don't be silly, Lav. There's still a whole month left to go." (Harry sighed through his nostrils. He'd be spending that time at the Dursleys again.)

The girl named 'Lav' stepped forward and, without even noticing Harry and Hagrid, finished her measurements before giving her first wand a wave. Nothing happened, though her next wand – cypress and unicorn hair – produced a stream of black sparks upon being flicked.

"Brilliant! I'm sooooo taking this one!"

"The wand chooses its owner," Mr Ollivander said, smiling. "And I haven't sold a cypress one in years."

Lav and her father were all smiles upon leaving the store, after which Harry resumed his own search.

"Tricky customer, eh?" Mr Ollivander said. "Try this one, Mr Potter. Sycamore and unicorn hair, twelve inches, unyielding." He passed Harry a dark wand which, unfortunately, shot an uncomfortable jolt down Harry's arm upon being flicked.

"Ouch!"

That was definitely _not_ the wand for Harry, though Mr Ollivander hardly seemed fazed. On the contrary, the latter grew more excited with each failed attempt. Next up was a vine and dragon heartstring wand, ten and three-quarter inches, which gave little more than a feeble fizzle upon being waved around by Harry.

"I wonder, now – yes, why not? Holly and phoenix feather – an unusual combination. Eleven inches. Nice and supple."

"What's _unusual_ about it?" Harry asked. "Did no-one else get a phoenix one?"

"Jus' give it a try," Hagrid said from the corner. "I'd rather we not get interrupted again."

The moment Harry so much as _touched_ his wand, he felt a sudden, soothing warmth in his fingers. Then he raised his wand and brought it down in a swish, sending out red and gold sparks that stuck to the wall. Hagrid cheered so loudly – and for so long – that he completely missed Mr Ollivander's soft, whispering remark about Harry's and Voldemort's wand cores coming from the same phoenix.

"What?"

"It's more of a curiosity than anything else," Mr Ollivander said. "Now, to answer your earlier question, Mr Potter, phoenix-feather cores are extremely rare, though not unheard of. In fact, of the eighteen wands I've sold to your year-group so far, only yourself, Susan Bones, and Parvati Patil had been chosen by a phoenix-feather wand."

"And their woods?" Harry asked. He was starting to like this whole wand-business thing, not to mention Mr Ollivander's uncanny memory. How in the world could Mr Ollivander remember _every single_ wand he'd ever sold?

"Pine and elm, respectively."

"Not ter be rude or anythin'," Hagrid said while standing up from the spindly chair in the corner, "bu' we really need ter get goin', sir."

"Ah yes, of course." Mr Ollivander placed Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper. "Well, you're always welcome in my store, Harry Potter - and you too, Hagrid."

At long last, Harry's shopping trip was over. He paid the seven Galleons owed to Mr Ollivander, took his owl cage, and followed Hagrid out of the store. But just when it seemed like Harry's brief visit to the wizarding world was over, Hagrid stopped in his tracks and gave him a long, thoughtful look.

"Yeh sure ask a lot of questions, don't yeh?"

Harry shrugged, and Hagrid chuckled.

"Tell yeh what, how 'bout we go back ter –" He paused upon seeing a most strange-looking wizard limping up the road towards them. "Mad-Eye? Didn't expect ter see _you_ here."

"Yeah, well, Dumbledore called and asked if I'd like to stretch my legs for a bit."

The wizard named Mad-Eye looked like he'd seen his share of battles over the years. He had a heavily scarred face, several inches of carved wooden leg – ending in a clawed foot, and a vivid, electric blue eye which was capable of moving independently from his normal, right one.

"Well, all righ', then," said Hagrid. "But if yeh're lookin' ter join us on a stroll, well ... I'm already done with Harry Potter's shoppin' trip. Oh, that reminds me ... Harry, meet Alastor Moody – better known as 'Mad-Eye'. He's an old friend o' me an' Dumbledore, and your parents too."

"I'd spend less time talking, and more time delivering that package of yours, if I were you," said Mad-Eye, fixing his strange eye on Hagrid's coat (could he, somehow, see through things?). "How can you be sure that I'm not an imposter looking to steal it, hmm?"

"Yeh wouldn'ta said so in the firs' place, or even know 'bout Hogwarts business."

"Don't be so sure." At that, Moody handed over a piece of parchment said to be written by Professor Dumbledore. "Go and check with Ollivander that this was indeed written by Dumbledore – and make it quick."

Hagrid grumbled something that sounded like "Ruddy paranoid", did as he was told, and returned from the wand shop barely a minute or two later. "All righ', it's clear. Now what?"

"You shouldn't have left Harry Potter, of all people, standing alone out here with a potential imposter," said Moody. "I could've done away with him. A first-class Portkey straight to the remaining Death Eaters out there."

For some reason, Harry wasn't at all terrified (or sure) of what Mad-Eye Moody had just said. It was quite fascinating to see Hagrid, who schooled Harry on the wizarding world, be schooled by a more veteran wizard.

"In any case," said Moody, "this should save you a long trip home. I'll take Harry from here." Then he gave Hagrid a rectangular box which had a bluish, glowing feather within.

"Guess I'll be seein' you at school, then," Hagrid told Harry. The former handed over an envelope containing Harry's ticket for the Hogwarts Express – which was set to leave at eleven o'clock on September the first. Then he opened the box and touched the feather, causing him to disappear on the spot.

Harry gaped, and Moody gave a brief explanation about Portkeys (it was information overload today, that's for sure).

"So tell me," said Moody, once Harry had stopped staring at the spot where Hagrid had vanished, "how does one get to platform nine and three-quarters, Harry?"

They were walking down the road when Harry said, "I dunno. Maybe a Portkey?"

"Perhaps, but not quite." Moody then took it upon himself to explain all about the magical barrier between platforms nine and ten. "You can't expect to be Portkeyed everywhere. So don't forget about that wall, OK?"

Harry nodded, and they carried on walking until passing the ice-cream parlour – on their right – where Professor Quirrell was currently sitting outside. He was eating an extra-large strawberry ice-cream while watching Gringotts across the road. Moody grunted upon seeing him.

"So, that's your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, eh?"

"Seems like it, yeah."

There was a slight pause as Moody eyed Quirrell in the distance. Then he looked at the bag of books in Harry's hand, and groaned. "Back to the bookstore, then."

Harry blinked while looking up at Moody. "But I've already got my books."

"Look, lad, I'm sure Dumbledore has his reasons for letting that idiot take up the post, but" – a slight crease appeared on Moody's forehead – "it'd be an insult to your parents' memory if I let you go in unprepared."

So Harry returned to Flourish and Blotts, where Moody personally picked out two extra books to complement Harry's first steps into offensive and defensive magic.

"They won't turn you into an Auror – or Dark-wizard-catcher – on day one," Moody said. "But at least you'll be as reasonably prepared as a first-year can be."

With nothing else left to do in Diagon Alley, Harry followed Moody out into the Muggle world. Moody wore a bowler hat to cover his magical eye, which helped to lessen the stares during their trip from Paddington station to Little Whinging's station. Today had been one hell of a learning experience, and Harry's mind was filled with the memories of Diagon Alley as he walked alongside Moody on the pavement.

"Keep your wits about you," Moody said, his magical eye likely scanning all around them. "Never know who might try their luck out here. All that luggage would make for a nice distraction during a fight."

The sun was beginning to set by the time Harry and Moody turned into Privet Drive. They were walking in the shadows of the houses when Harry finally decided to ask something which nagged him all afternoon. "Mr Moody, can you see your brain, your eyeballs, your ears, your nose –"

"Everything, lad. But you get used to it over the years. I suppose it's like looking at your hands all the time, except that I get to look through it whenever I want."

"And what does my brain look like?"

"Young and healthy," said Moody. "Ah, here we are ... number four. Make sure to study well in advance, but don't use that wand until you're on the train, understand?"

Harry nodded. Then he watched as Moody carried on limping down the road, and out of sight. And so began the long, dreary wait for Harry at this horrible place he barely called 'home'.


	2. The Journey

Harry's last month with the Dursleys was simply maddening. True, the Dursleys no longer ordered him around or kept him shut in his cupboard, but they made up for it by completely ignoring his existence. The only company Harry had was his snowy owl (whom he named 'Hedwig'), while Dudley, on the other hand, was constantly doted on by his parents – especially now that he had a pig's tail.

"Don't worry, Duddy," Aunt Petunia said at breakfast one morning. "We'll get it fixed as soon as we can."

"I'm sure he'll forget about it when he's at Smeltings," said Uncle Vernon. "Just need to find the right specialist first. One that doesn't ask too many questions ..."

All Harry could do was keep to his room and study. There was so much to read that the mere thought of doing _magic_ was enough to send shivers down Harry's spine, even on the hottest of summer days. Day by day, the month of August creeped by at a snail's pace until the first of September finally arrived.

It was a clear and sunny morning when the Dursleys dropped Harry off at King's Cross station. Uncle Vernon was all too happy to point out the fact that platform nine and three-quarters didn't exist, and he had a good laugh with Dudley and Aunt Petunia as they drove away. But Harry, having remembered Mad-Eye Moody's words, made a break for the magical barrier as soon as the coast was clear. He emerged onto a crowded, smoke-filled platform on the other side.

"There's _Harry Potter_!"

"Let's go see his scar!"

"Wonder what house he'll be in?"

Harry couldn't believe it. He pushed his trolley forward as countless heads turned to stare at him. That nosy reporter just _had_ to go and release whatever front-page article she did last month, didn't she? And because there were so many students desperate to be seen sitting with _the_ Harry Potter, Harry received more compartment-invitations than he could remember.

Eventually, once he'd reached one of the train's doors, Harry came across a girl who was almost a foot taller than him. She wore a set of plain black robes, had long brown hair, and had large, almond-shaped blue eyes.

"Let me help you with that," she said. And before Harry knew it, his luggage was being levitated a few feet off the ground. "There's a few spots available here and there, but I take it you want some peace and quiet instead?"

Harry nodded. He'd rather sit on his own than be put through dozens of questions, and face all those mindless admirers.

"All right, then," the girl said. "Straight to the end we go."

And so Harry and the mysterious, lightly tanned girl made their way down the lengthy corridor of the train. They went from one carriage to another until coming to a halt near the end of the train, where the girl introduced herself as Yasmin Shafiq. She was a third-year student, though Harry forgot to ask which house she was in.

"Aaaaand here we are," said Yasmin, gesturing for Harry to enter the empty compartment. "I doubt many people would come this far to bother you. But if they do, me and the boys'll deal with 'em – politely, of course."

Then she left, sliding the compartment door shut on her way out.

This was it. Harry was about to make the long, exciting journey to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which he'd been dreaming of ever since getting his letter from Hagrid.

"We're going to Hogwarts!" Harry told Hedwig, who clicked her beak before falling asleep in her cage. "No more Dursleys!"

With nothing better to do, Harry pulled out his Charms textbook as the train began to move. Every now and then he looked up to see the houses and fields flash past on his left. And after what felt like only a few minutes, the train was already speeding through the lush, green countryside.

At around half past twelve, some old woman pushing a sweets trolley arrived outside Harry's compartment. Naturally, Harry ended up buying nearly a Galleon's worth of treats, and he stuffed himself until hearing what sounded like a boy wailing in the corridor.

"Can't you let me through, p - please?" Harry heard the boy ask. "Trevor, my toad, c - could be hiding there. He keeps getting away from me!"

"You stay here," Yasmin could be heard saying. "I'll go have a – hey! Come back here, girl!"

Harry, meanwhile, couldn't care less about some boy and his toad. So instead of heading outside to have a look, Harry chose to get started on some spell practice instead. He flipped through his textbook and settled upon trying out _Reparo_ – the Mending Charm.

 _Gotta break something first_ , Harry told himself, seeing as he couldn't find anything to fix in the first place. He therefore took his book and used one of its corners to rip a hole in the opposite seat. And then he heard a loud, drawn-out gasp from the doorway.

"You just broke that seat!" said a girl's voice. " _I'm_ going to fetch a prefect right now!"

Caught off guard, Harry spun around and saw a frizzy-haired girl standing with her hand over her mouth; her brown eyes widened in horror. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes.

"How else am I going to fix it, then?" Harry asked. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that."

"And _you_ shouldn't vandalise school property like that!" The girl backed out of the doorway, as if to leave. "Now you're in trouble."

Just then, Yasmin and two short-haired, burly boys appeared outside Harry's compartment.

"Listen here, missy," Yasmin told the frizzy-haired girl. "I thought I told you to wait back there with the toad boy –"

"His name's Neville," said the girl, standing in an almost nose-in-the-air manner (Harry had to stop himself from laughing). "And since I don't see a prefect badge on you, you can't tell me what to do. And besides, it's not against the rules to walk up and down the train, is it?"

"That attitude's not going to do you any favours around here," said Yasmin. She grabbed the girl by the shoulder, and Harry intervened.

"Hey, let her have a look around. It's fine."

"Hmph!" said the girl. "At least someone around here has manners, even if he did vandalise that seat over there."

Just as Harry had expected, neither Yasmin nor the boys seemed to care that Harry had broken that seat. In fact, the boys then seized the opportunity to shake hands with Harry and introduce themselves as Lucian Bole and Cassius Warrington – Beater and reserve Chaser for the Slytherin Quidditch team.

"Wait, hold on," said the girl, pausing to look up while checking under the seats. "How come you're not even scolding him for breaking that seat? That's damage to school property."

Yasmin merely shrugged. "Because he's Harry Potter, that's why." (The girl gasped, and turned to stare at Harry.) "How can you not even recognise him when he was on the front of a _Prophet_ last month?"

"The front of a ... _what_?" the girl asked.

" _Daily Prophet_ , you know, our news – oh." Yasmin suddenly stopped, and blinked while leaning against the doorway. "Are you a Muggle-born, perhaps?"

"Totally a Muggle-born," said Bole. Warrington nodded.

"Yeah, no doubt about that."

"I sure am!" said the girl, her expression turning from shock to pleasant surprise. "My name's Hermione Granger. Are you three Muggle-borns as well?"

Bole and Warrington made derisive snorts while shaking their heads, though Yasmin simply crossed her arms and said, "Nope, otherwise we'd've heard about it day in and day out from some of our housemates." (That sounded rather ominous to Harry, though it went completely over Granger's unbrushed head.) "Anyway ... found that toad yet?"

"No," said Granger. "I suppose Neville will have to carry on on his own, then. _I_ want to meet Harry Potter."

And just like that, Granger plonked herself on the seat opposite Harry, who frowned.

"How am I supposed to fix that with you in the way?"

"Fix?" Yasmin rubbed her chin while looking from the wand in Harry's hand to the seat behind Granger. "Ah, I see. Practising _Reparo_ , are we? OK, let's see it, then. Out of the way, Granger."

"I'm not practising unless you're nicer to her," Harry told Yasmin, who shot an amused glance at Warrington and Bole before rephrasing her command in a 'nicer' way to Hermione Granger.

"OK, OK, I'm moving!" Granger said, shifting aside so that Harry could take aim and cast his spell. Harry did all the mental preparations that he could and even got both the pronunciation and wand movements correct, and yet little more than a white fizzle came out the end of his wand.

"Damn."

"Let me show you how it's done," said Granger. She whipped out her own wand (which Harry could swear he might've tried out back at Ollivander's), took aim, and did the Mending Charm to the best of her abilities. _"Reparo!"_

The inch-long tear remained unchanged.

"What?"

Yasmin and the boys laughed at Harry and Hermione, after which Yasmin said, "Too cute, man. These teeny first-years think spells are as easy as reading for a bit. Sorry, but that only works once you've got more experienced with magic."

"But I _have_ been reading and practising for a while ..." Hermione tried to argue, though she conceded that she'd only been using her wand since boarding the train.

"Duh," said Bole, shaking his head. "I'm sure whoever took you to the Alley would've mentioned the underage-magic law. Try not to blow yourselves up while practising. Let's go, Cassius."

"Right behind you, mate."

"Happy practising," Yasmin said, sliding the compartment door shut as she left.

"I still can't believe that you're Harry Potter," said Hermione. "I mean, I've read loads of books after going to Diagon Alley. Did you know that you're in _Modern Magical History_ , _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ , and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_?"

"Not really."

"But how did you survive?" Hermione asked. "I mean, there's no record of anyone else having done that before."

Harry shrugged, then he looked around and decided to ask his own question. "Erm, where's your stuff?"

"My wha –" Hermione gasped, and leaped to her feet. "Goodness, I _completely_ forgot about my luggage! I'll go get it right now. Thanks, Harry Potter!"

 _She's mental_ , Harry thought as Hermione rushed out of the compartment. _Totally bonkers._ And yet, for some reason, he didn't have the heart to tell Hermione that she was actually a bit annoying. In fact, Harry had a strong suspicion that Hermione would end up being bullied and ostracised, much like Harry himself back at St Grogory's. (Oddly enough, Harry couldn't care less about that Neville boy, whom the former had heard wailing earlier.)

About half an hour later, Hermione returned with her trunk in tow (she hadn't brought any pets). She was all smiles while taking a seat opposite Harry, and she then said, "What Hogwarts house do you think you'll make? There's Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. You do know about them, right?"

Harry shrugged. "Mostly what I read, 'cause I grew up with Muggles."

"So the books were right, then. Do they know anything about our world?"

Unwilling to discuss his life at the Dursleys, Harry ended up talking about whatever he'd learned regarding Hogwarts and its houses. But then, all of a sudden, Hermione pulled out her Charms textbook and flipped through its pages in a hurry.

"All right," she said. "Let's worry about our Sorting later, and get the Mending Charm sorted right now."

"Whoever does it first gets two Chocolate Frogs, deal? Best of three attempts."

"That's nice," said Hermione, as she opened her book and flipped through its pages. "But I'm not eating much sweets until I've learned some kind of mouth- – or at least tooth- – cleaning spell. My parents are dentists, you see, and they wouldn't like me messing up my teeth, especially not while I'm wearing my brace."

Harry's confused look made Hermione give a bright smile.

"They're 'lingual' ones," she said. "Behind my teeth and out of sight."

"More Frogs for me, then."

"Remind me to give you some floss, at least."

Harry and Hermione were about to begin their Mending Charm practice when the compartment door slid open. They turned to see three boys enter – one of whom Harry recognised as being that pale, blond one from Diagon Alley. ( _He'd better not be coming after Hermione now_ , Harry thought.)

"Listen, Harry Potter, I'd like to formally apologise for my behaviour back in Diagon Alley," said the boy (whose name Harry had forgotten) in a cautious, almost rehearsed tone. "I mean, if I'd known that it was _you_ back there –"

"No stress," said Harry, preferring to start his boarding-school life as fresh as possible.

"Excellent. My name's Draco Malfoy, in case you didn't know." Draco then gestured towards the two thickset, basically dark-haired versions of Dudley standing behind him (who were staring non-stop at the pile of Chocolate Frogs lying beside Harry). "This is Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. I'm pretty sure all three of us are going to be in Slytherin – the best house – once we get under the Hat. You _do_ know about the Sorting Hat, right?"

"We were just talking about it earlier," said Hermione, smiling. "And just so you know, I'm hoping to make Gryffindor – although I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad either. Harry likes the colour green, so he's hoping for Slytherin."

That last part made Draco take a seat beside Harry and nod in approval. "Excellent choice, Pott – Harry. My mother and father, well, my whole family's been in Slytherin. It really is the best house of them all ..."

The trio of Harry, Hermione, and Draco then spent the next few minutes discussing all sorts of Hogwarts-related things (while Crabbe and Goyle helped themselves to Harry's pile of sweets). They spoke at length regarding the Sorting Ceremony, first-years not being allowed their own brooms, as well as the four Hogwarts houses. Harry noticed that Draco and Hermione were getting along quite well, and then he looked past Draco and saw Yasmin peering into the compartment.

"I gave you fifteen minutes here, Malfoy. Time's up, unless Harry wants you to stay."

"And why wouldn't he?" Draco asked, tilting his nose in the air while looking at Yasmin. "It's good that he's got people like you filtering out the riff-raff out there, but _I'm_ certainly not one of them."

For a fraction of a second, Harry thought he saw Yasmin's eyes dart to Hermione in the corner. It seemed as if Yasmin was concerned about something, though she hid it well.

"All right. Be nice with each other, OK?"

"Sure, whatever," said Draco, turning his back to the door as Yasmin walked away. Then he looked at Hermione in the corner while resuming their earlier conversation. "So, er, where were we again?"

"You were saying how Gryffindor and Hufflepuff might be the worst."

Harry, meanwhile, watched their interaction very closely. He'd already experienced Draco Malfoy's hatred towards Muggle-borns first hand, and hoped that Hermione Granger wouldn't be next in line to receive a certain other M-word as well. Was that why Yasmin had come to check up on them? After all, it would be a right nasty experience if Hermione were to be insulted so severely before even reaching Hogwarts.

"Honestly, they _are_ the worst," Draco said, narrowing his eyes and raising his cheeks in disgust. "Someone as smart as you ought to come to Slytherin. I hear the Ravenclaws all stab each other in the back on the way up."

"Ravenclaw's stupid," Crabbe said in the other corner, opposite Draco. It was the first time that Harry had heard him speak, and he had a surprisingly soft voice for someone so big. "Me and Goyle know some people who was in there. And they said it was boring and full of riddles."

Hermione blinked, and said, "Who 'were' in there, you mean."

"And their ghost don't like no-one," Goyle said as he munched his way through yet another pumpkin pasty. "Boring house."

"What's your name anyway?" Draco asked Hermione, having realised that the latter hadn't yet introduced herself. "It's impolite to hold a conversation while being an unknown, you know."

"Oh, sorry." Hermione flushed pink in embarrassment. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"'Granger'?" Draco paused for thought. "Hmm ... are you a half-blood, perhaps?" Then he quickly followed up by looking at Harry and saying, "Not that there's anything wrong with being one. I mean, my soon-to-be Head of House, Severus Snape, is a respectable example out there."

Harry was caught in two minds. On the one hand, he stared at Hermione while hoping that she wouldn't reveal her blood status yet; but on the other hand, Harry knew that it was bound to come out at some point. Did Hermione even know about blood prejudice at all?

"I'm a Muggle-born, actually."

The scene seemed to freeze. Harry saw Hermione smiling at Draco, who – in turn – sat with his jaw slackened and with his mouth hanging open. And then there were Crabbe and Goyle, both of whom sat frozen in the act of unwrapping their next sweet. They appeared to be confused and were looking at Draco for instructions.

"M - Muggle-born, you say?" Draco asked, still looking at Hermione as if he'd never seen her before. "As in coming from Muggle parents?"

"That's the definition, yes."

"But," – Draco blinked for a second or two, as if trying to think of an appropriate response – "you've at least got a magical aunt, uncle, cousin ... or _anyone_ , right?"

"None at all." Hermione beamed with pride. "I'm the first magical person in my family, as far as I know."

More silence, and Draco's gaze then shifted from Hermione to Harry and back as he appeared to be contemplating something. And then, to Harry's surprise, Draco simply stood up and excused himself from the compartment. "Got lots of revision to do before reaching Hogsmeade," he said. "I'll, er, see you at school, then, Harry."

The biggest surprise was Draco's lack of blatant hostility towards Hermione. Was he waiting for the 'right' opportunity to give that anti-Muggle-born lecture which Harry was expecting?

"I ... don't understand," Hermione said, once Draco and his bodyguards had left the compartment. "Was it something I said?"

Before Harry could break the bad – but necessary – news to Hermione, the compartment door slid open as two people entered: Yasmin and yet another short-haired, burly boy (honestly, were they her bodyguards, or something?).

"Yeah, I can tell what's going on here," Yasmin said. "Not to, erm, be the bearer of bad news, Hermione, but you get people like Draco Malfoy who are, well, 'blood prejudiced' ..." And she proceeded to give as polite an explanation as she could regarding the matter. "That's real life, I'm afraid. You can't really reason with these people."

Seeing Hermione sitting there frozen in shock made Harry's stomach do a nasty turn. So he looked at her and said, "Funny how there was nothing wrong before he knew your blood status, huh? Just goes to show that it doesn't matter."

"Don't worry about that nonsense," said the boy beside Yasmin. "I've seen all sorts of people get smashed with Bludgers in Quidditch, and they all look the same when bleeding." He reached to shake Harry's and then Hermione's hand. "Anyway, name's Marcus Flint. Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team."

"I know it's easier said than done," Yasmin told Hermione, "but try not to let the whole blood-thing get to you, OK? It's stupid, I know." And then she left the compartment, with Marcus Flint.

Hermione, however, remained silent. She sat with her face pressed against the window pane and stared out at the twisting rivers and the dark green hills as they passed by.

"I don't think I want to go to Slytherin anymore," Harry said. "Maybe Gryffindor, like my parents."

"Don't be silly. You just said you'd prefer green over everything else. And besides, I'm sure it doesn't matter where we go. Different houses doesn't mean we're in different schools."

"Yeah, I guess so," said Harry. "Hey, how about we get that spell going?"

Hermione agreed, and they spent the rest of the afternoon trying to fix the gaping hole in her seat.


	3. The Sorting Hat

The sky had turned a dark shade of purple by the time the train pulled into Hogsmeade station. Crowds of students pushed their way out on to the tiny platform, where a lamp soon came bobbing over the heads of the students. It was Hagrid, and he took the first-years down a steep, narrow path that twisted and turned until opening at the edge of a great black lake. A lake so huge you could probably fit all of Little Whinging, and more, in there.

Hagrid pointed out the fleet of boats docked at the shore and said that no more than four people were to share a boat. Then, once everyone had climbed in, Hagrid commanded the fleet to move forward – which it did on its own. Meanwhile, Harry and Hermione were so caught up in staring at the distant castle that they'd failed to notice the two other students sitting in their boat.

"I knew it," said a voice behind Harry. "You _are_ Harry Potter! We saw you in the wand shop, you know."

Shaken out of his daydreams, Harry turned to see two familiar faces staring at him. One was that blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl Harry had seen back at Ollivander's, and the other was the black-haired girl with a face that looked slightly like a pug.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said, "I remember that. You're, er ..."

"Daphne Greengrass," the blonde girl said. "And this's my cousin – second cousin – Pansy Parkinson."

"I can introduce myself, you know," Pansy Parkinson said. She reached forward and shook Harry's and Hermione's hands. "Hey, Granger, aren't you the Muggle-born who met Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione nodded.

"Thought so," said Pansy. "Draco couldn't believe he had a conversation with a Muggle-born –"

"So what?" said Harry, while Hermione turned to stare at the cliff face ahead. "Is that a problem?"

Pansy shrugged. "People like Draco are always gonna have a problem with people like her. It's a blood-status thing, you see."

"Yeah," said Harry. "I was right there when it happened."

"Heads down!" Hagrid yelled, as the boats reached a curtain of ivy in the cliff face. They were taken through a dark tunnel that emerged in an underground harbour, where Hagrid and the students climbed out on to the rocks and pebbles ahead. Hagrid started checking each of the boats, giving the students enough time to resume their conversations.

"What house do you think you'll be in?" Pansy asked Harry and Hermione. "I know I'm either Ravenclaw or Slytherin. Definitely not Hufflepuff, 'cause I hear it's boring there."

Harry saw a trio of students pass by at that moment. One of them was a large, square-built, heavy-jawed girl; the other was a red-haired girl with a short plait running down the back of her neck, and the third was a tall, gangly red-haired boy with freckles. They were all eavesdropping on Harry's conversation.

"What's wrong with Hufflepuff?" Hermione asked Pansy. " _Hogwarts: A History_ says that Helga Hufflepuff was very much open-minded. Sounds like a nice house to be in, actually."

"Which makes it boring," said Pansy. "So where are you two going, then? You know your preference can be taken into consideration, right? Mom chose Slytherin over Ravenclaw."

"I'm kind of stuck between Gryffindor and Slytherin," said Harry. "I like both, but Hermione says I'll be happier in Slytherin."

Hermione stared at the pebbles as she said, "But if they're all like Malfoy, then ... I'm not so sure anymore."

"Why?" Daphne placed her hands on her hips. "'Cause you think they'll make fun of him for being a half-blood? Actually, they might. There's some proper divvies there."

There was a moment of silence (during which Hagrid reunited Longbottom with the latter's toad) until Pansy spoke. "Nah, they won't. Slytherin's a great house if you've got status and whatnot. Granger's totally a Ravenclaw."

"Totally, yeah," said Daphne. "A right proper Eagle."

"Everyone got everythin'?" Hagrid asked. "Right then, let's get goin'."

Nobody said a word as they clambered up a stretch of passageway in the rock, which opened on to smooth, damp grass in the shadow of the castle. They followed Hagrid towards a set of huge, oak front doors – where Hagrid knocked thrice before stepping back. The doors opened to reveal a tall, black-haired woman named Professor McGonagall, who led the first-years into a small, empty chamber off the castle's Entrance Hall.

Despite almost trembling with excitement – and nervousness – the first-years gave Professor McGonagall their undivided attention as she welcomed them to Hogwarts. She then lectured them with regards to the start-of-term feast, the Sorting Ceremony, the four different houses, maintaining proper conduct, as well as the most prestigious prize at the end of the year: the House Cup.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," Professor McGonagall said. "Please wait quietly in the meantime."

And then she left, leaving the group of first-years standing by themselves in their overcrowded little chamber (which was still bigger than Harry's bedroom at the Dursleys).

"So," Harry heard a boy say somewhere at the back of the group, "everyone ready for the test? My brother said it hurts a lot, but I think he was just joking."

"Who said that?" said the voice of Draco nearby. "Ah, I see ... you must be a _Weasley_." (Nearly a dozen or so students started sniggering.) "Nobody cares about you or your family, Weasley. Any half-decent wizard would know that the Sorting Ceremony barely qualifies as a test. Easy as pie for us."

A distraction came in the form of many different ghosts floating in through the walls, after which Professor McGonagall ushered them away and led the first-years into the massive Great Hall ("The ceiling's enchanted to look like the sky," Harry heard Hermione whisper to Pansy, who probably knew that already). They were then made to stand side-by-side with their backs to the staff table, facing the rest of the students and the Sorting Hat.

After listening to the Sorting Hat sing its song, the first-years braced themselves as Professor McGonagall opened the large roll of parchment in her hands. She paused for a moment before calling: "Abbott, Hannah."

Some pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails nearly fell out of line as she made her way up to the stool, beside Professor McGonagall, where she sat down and placed the Hat over her head. Then, seconds later, the Hat yelled "HUFFLEPUFF!", thus completing the first of forty Sortings for that night.

"Man, this's gonna take forever," Harry heard Daphne whisper on his right, to which Pansy – standing on her right – reminded Daphne that this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

The next student to be called was 'Bones, Susan' – the red-haired girl who had eavesdropped on Harry's group down at the harbour. Bones took a deep breath and walked up to the stool, where she sat down for almost two minutes until the Hat yelled:

"SLYTHERIN!"

The table furthest to the right boomed with applause, though Harry didn't like the looks on some of the Slytherins' faces. About a dozen or so, or perhaps more, were whispering among one another as Bones made her way over to their table. Even Professor McGonagall, who Harry could tell was working hard to maintain a neutral, professional expression, had one of her eyebrows slightly lowered while looking down at the Sorting Hat.

"Wait, what?" Harry heard Pansy say in a hushed voice. "Guess we'll be sharing a room with the fuzz, cuz."

"Don't talk as if we're both getting Slytherin," Daphne said, her voice slightly shaking from the suspense. "Wh - what if I get Hufflepuff?"

"Don't be silly," said Pansy.

'Boot, Terry' went up next and was Sorted into Ravenclaw, as was 'Brocklehurst, Mandy' thereafter. They were followed by 'Brown, Lavender' (the 'Lav' girl whom Harry recognised from the wand shop) becoming the first new Gryffindor. The table furthest to the left cheered and whistled as Brown made her way over to them.

Next to be called was 'Bulstrode, Millicent' – that big girl who'd eavesdropped on Harry's group earlier. It took just over a minute for Bulstrode to be Sorted into Hufflepuff, after which she climbed off the stool and made her way towards the Hufflepuff table. Bulstrode breathed a sigh of relief and sat down beside a smiling Hannah Abbott.

"Corner, Michael."

"RAVENCLAW!"

Seven down, thirty-three to go. Harry watched as the next student, 'Cornfoot, Stephen', strode up to the stool and was then placed in Hufflepuff. He was followed by Vincent Crabbe and 'Davis, Tracey' (a short girl with dark-brown hair, and who wore oval glasses) being Sorted one after the other in Slytherin.

"Yay! Roommate number two," Pansy whispered, sounding genuinely pleased.

Meanwhile, Harry started daydreaming about where in the world he was going to end up. His thoughts drifted to Gryffindor – as 'Dunbar, Fay' went that way, Ravenclaw – as 'Entwhistle, Kevin' was placed there, and then Hufflepuff – once the snobbish-looking 'Finch-Fletchley, Justin' swaggered over to that table.

On and on it went, with 'Finnigan, Seamus' becoming the third Gryffindor, 'Goldstein, Anthony' heading to Ravenclaw, Gregory Goyle joining his fellow dimwit in Slytherin, and then Hermione being called up to the stool. Harry whispered "Good luck" to her as she almost ran to take her seat and jammed the Hat onto her head. It was the longest Sorting thus far, with Hermione sitting beneath the Hat for over a minute, then two, then three – and then, finally ...

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Someone far to the left of the line groaned amidst the wave of cheers and applause coming from the Gryffindor table. But Harry didn't care, especially as Daphne shot forward upon being called.

"Hope it's Slytherin," Pansy whispered to Harry, after having taken Daphne's spot beside him.

"SLYTHERIN!"

Pansy gasped in delight and almost joined in on the Slytherins' applause. The crease that had formed between her brows soon disappeared as she eased up and smiled.

"Hopkins, Wayne."

Harry slipped into daydream-mode yet again. He stared at the star-sprinkled sky as Wayne Hopkins and 'Jones, Megan' each went to Hufflepuff, followed by 'Li, Su' joining Ravenclaw. Then came a long, dreary wait until Neville Longbottom made Gryffindor, after which Longbottom (accidentally) made a fool of himself by running with the Hat still on.

"Looks like any loser can make Gryffindor these days," Pansy whispered, sniggering.

'MacDougal, Morag' then went to Ravenclaw, followed by 'Macmillan, Ernest' heading to Hufflepuff, and Draco Malfoy barely putting on the Hat before it yelled "SLYTHERIN!"

"Damn," Harry whispered to Pansy (while 'Malone, Roger' went to Hufflepuff). "He could be my roommate."

"You going to Hufflepuff?"

"Very funny," Harry whispered. "But I meant Malfoy."

'Moon, Lily' became yet another Hufflepuff, followed by a weedy-looking boy called 'Nott, Theodore' going to Slytherin. Harry was just about to comment when Professor McGonagall then said, "Parkinson, Pansy."

With a slight strut in her step, Pansy stepped forward and was eventually placed in Slytherin. She beamed and made her way over to the applauding table, where she took a seat between Bones and Daphne – opposite Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Pansy greeted the others before shaking hands with Daphne (they giggled while pretending to meet each other for the first time).

 _Almost there_ , Harry told himself, as 'Patil, Padma' went to Ravenclaw, followed by her twin, Parvati, being placed in Gryffindor. They were followed by a tall, long-haired girl named 'Perks, Sally-Anne' joining Hufflepuff.

And then, at last, Harry felt his heart give an extra beat as Professor McGonagall said, "Potter, Harry."

As Harry stepped forward, he saw every single head turned in his direction. Students, staff, and ghosts alike were all staring at Harry as he went up to the stool and dropped the Sorting Hat over his head.

"Hmm," said a small voice in Harry's ear. "Difficult. Very difficult ..."

Harry sat dead-still while listening to the Hat's assessment. It mentioned plenty of courage, a decent mind, talent, and a thirst to prove himself – though Harry wasn't quite sure what to believe. It wasn't as if he had the chance to express himself back at the Dursleys.

 _My parents went to Gryffindor_ , Harry thought. _Gryffindor seems right._

"Are you sure?" said the Hat. "You could be great in Slytherin, you know. It's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness – no? Well, if you're sure, better be –"

_How exactly would Slytherin make me 'great'?_

"That is for you to discover in due time, Mr Potter. I cannot provide a direct answer as of yet."

Harry was starting to like this conversation. It wasn't every day you could speak with an old, frayed hat that read you like a book. _What about Hufflepuff? I heard it's a great house, too._

"All four houses have their merits, yes. But I stand by what I've said regarding Slytherin."

_And Ravenclaw?_

"Perhaps."

_What about Gryffindor? You said I've got 'plenty of courage', right?_

"Indeed, but courage is not exclusive to Gryffindor, Mr Potter."

The longer this conversation went on, the more unsure Harry felt. What would his parents say if he went to Slytherin? The house that hated Muggle-borns, including Harry's own mother? Then again, Harry liked the thought of having green and silver as his official house-colours.

"Shall we proceed?" said the Hat. And when Harry remained silent in his decision, the Hat followed up with: "SLYTHERIN!"

Harry took off the Hat, ignored the sudden sting in his scar, and saw just over half the Slytherins letting loose with their celebrations. They gave a loud, resounding "YEEEEEEEAH!" like you'd hear at a football match, as well as standing up and giving a tremendous round of applause. Here and there Harry saw one of the Slytherins, including those he'd met on the train, whistling and cheering as Harry made his way over to their table. The rest of the Slytherins, however, were either cheering in a reserved manner or were barely applauding Harry at all (which made him a tad worried).

"I knew it! I knew you'd join us!" Harry heard Daphne say upon his arrival. She shifted to the right and offered him the seat at the end of the table. Then she held out her hand and said, "I'm Daphne Greengrass. Pleased to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too," Harry said. Daphne giggled as he shook her hand.

"If we're done with the foolishness," said Draco Malfoy, who was sitting further up the table – opposite Tracey Davis, "I'd like to say that you've come to the right house, Harry. Thought you might go to Gryffindor or" – Draco made an exaggerated shudder – "the Duffers."

"Rivers, Oliver."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"See?" said Draco, as Rivers swaggered over to the Hufflepuff table. "Like that I mean, shame."

Harry could see the staff table properly now. At the end furthest him sat Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him the thumbs-up. Harry smiled back, then swept his gaze left until spotting the Headmaster.

"That old man in the middle is Headmaster Dumbledore, right?" Harry asked, and Daphne nodded. Then they watched as the next two students –'Roper, Sophie' and 'Runcorn, Alice' – all ended up going to Hufflepuff.

"Wow, thirteen," said Daphne. "They've got the most so far."

"Of course they do," said Draco, "considering that Hufflepuff's the dumping ground of Hogwarts."

"Thomas, Dean."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

While the Gryffindors applauded their newest member, Harry overheard Susan Bones mentioning that a lot of her family were in Hufflepuff over the years, and that she didn't like Draco's snide remarks. Draco, of course, couldn't care less about anyone's complaints.

"Turpin, Lisa."

"RAVENCLAW!"

There were only two students left: that redheaded boy – 'Weasley, Ronald' – who had eavesdropped on Harry's group down at the harbour, and a black boy named 'Zabini, Blaise'. The former went to Gryffindor ("No surprises there," said Draco), while the latter came to Slytherin.

"Hey, cop girl," Pansy said to Susan through the round of applause. "Please tell me you kept record?"

"I have a name," said Susan, "and I don't want to be known just because of my auntie, OK?"

 _"Wew, wew."_ (Did Pansy just imitate a police siren? How did she, of all people, even know about that?)

Their conversation, or whatever it was, came to a halt as Blaise Zabini reached the table and took a seat beside Gregory – opposite Harry. Blaise greeted them all and shook as many hands as he could, including Harry's, before the Great Hall went silent for the Headmaster.

"Welcome!" Professor Dumbledore said, standing with his arms opened wide. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts!" Then he proceeded to say a few words: "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!", followed by "Thank you!"

"The hell?" Tracey said, and Draco scoffed.

"Don't mind him. He's losing his touch."

Harry was about to respond when, all of a sudden, the dishes in front of him filled up with food. And since there were no Dursleys around to stop him now, Harry decided to eat as much as he liked. In fact, he was so preoccupied with filling both his plate and his mouth that he completely ignored the bloodstained ghost who had come to survey the first-years.

"You're the Bloody Baron, right?" Draco asked. The Baron nodded and took off without a word.

"What's his problem?" Tracey asked. "And why's he covered in blood? Eurgh."

"Don't know, don't care," said Draco, who then directed his attention towards Harry. "OK, listen up. This is a new start, see? It's time to ditch the Mudblood trash ... you _do_ know what a 'Mudblood' is, right?"

"It's a nasty word for a Muggle-born," said Susan. Harry couldn't see her from where he was sitting, but if he had to guess, she was probably glaring at Draco. "Which _I_ would never use."

"And who asked you?" said Draco. "Shouldn't you be in Gryffindor or something?"

"Why? Because my auntie's Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, huh?"

Harry couldn't be bothered to listen to his housemates bicker. He was far too busy savouring the wide variety of desserts on the table. There were blocks of ice-cream in every flavour imaginable, not to mention apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs, trifle ... the list went on.

Eventually, the group started discussing their families, though most of them already knew one another.

"There's no need for introductions on my side," said Draco. "Same goes for Greengrass, Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, and Theodore. We're all from proper pure-blood families who've known each other for years. You know – the usual."

"And what's 'the usual'?" Tracey asked, to which the weedy-looking boy called Theodore replied.

"It means we've known each other for years, duh. You're a half-blood, right?"

"Yep." Tracey sat up straight while speaking. "I live with my mummy and my daddy. Mum's an Obliviator" – (Daphne gave a quick, whispered explanation to Harry) – "and Dad's in the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. So they work on the same level! Cool, huh? Who's next? Susan?"

"I'm half-blood and live with my parents too," said Susan. "Mum and Dad do regular odd-jobs here and there. Nothing special. Dad's sister is the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – as I've said earlier. OK, who's next? Zabini?"

"What can I say?" said Blaise, shrugging. "I live with my mother. We're rich pure-bloods. That's it. Next?"

Last but definitely least, Harry couldn't think of anything to say. Was he supposed to just sit here and discuss his so-called 'childhood'?

"Well, I mean ... I grew up with Muggles and stuff."

"Ridiculous," said Blaise. Many of the others agreed.

"Speaking of Muggles," said Draco, observing Harry as the latter stared at the table in thought, "I hope you realise that Granger's bound to ditch you soon. People like her often stick to the library, I think."

"Can't you just give her a break?" Harry said. "I mean, you didn't have a problem with her before you knew her blood-status."

Draco shrugged. "Yeah, well ... we all make mistakes."

"Shhhh!" said Susan. "Professor Dumbledore's about to speak again!"

What followed was a lengthy speech regarding the Forbidden Forest being off-limits ("Well, duh," whispered Pansy), the use of magic being forbidden in the corridors, Quidditch trials taking place during the second week of term, and the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side being off-limits to everyone who did not wish to die 'a most painful death'.

"Go there, then," Draco muttered, as if speaking to the Headmaster himself. "And then Father can run this school as it should be."

"No, you idiot," Susan whispered. "Professor McGonagall would then take over. She's the Deputy Headmistress, duh."

"My father's on the board of governors, so watch your tongue."

"My auntie can throw your daddy in jail, so watch _your_ tongue."

"And my mummy can make both of you forget this stupid argument," Tracey told Draco and Susan, as Professor Dumbledore shot up a gold ribbon to initiate the school song. "So shut up and sing! _Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, teach us something please_ ..."

The school song was ... interesting, to say the least. Professor Dumbledore then dismissed the students once the song had finished, with Harry's group following their fifth-year prefects out into the Entrance Hall. One of the prefects was a tall, blond boy named Everett Burke, while the other was a black-haired girl named Camilla Saxon. They led the group towards a narrow stone staircase to the left of the big, marble one (the Hufflepuffs took the other staircase, to the right of the marble one), where they descended into the dimly lit, labyrinthine passages of the dungeons. None of the first-years said a word as they were taken down a few corridors until, finally, reaching a stretch of bare, damp stone wall halfway down a broad corridor somewhere.

Prefect Saxon stepped forward and spoke the password, 'Valerian root', causing a concealed door to open in the stone wall. Then she turned to address the first-years as they entered.

"Some basic rules for you to remember," she said. "Don't disclose the password to another house. Don't impersonate another house. Don't try and enter another house's common room. And please don't go around saying the Headmaster hates us. We're sick of hearing that rubbish."

"But it's true," said Draco, pausing at the doorway. "He does."

"And where's your proof, Malfoy?" Prefect Burke asked. "That's a dangerous accusation to make."

"Erm, excuse me," said Susan. "Aren't we at least getting a welcoming lecture from our Head of House? That'd be nice."

"Nope," said Prefect Saxon. "Not even Hufflepuff does that."

Susan sighed.

"In any case," said Prefect Burke. "The dormitories are over there. Boys on the left, girls on the right. First-years take the first passage inside."

There was no time to explore the long, low underground room, as the first-years were immediately ushered towards the two doors at its far end. Harry followed the group until coming to a stop at a large circular window, beyond which they could see the murky depths of the lake.

"Father said the glass and everything else is unbreakable," Draco said, and then he turned left to enter the boys' dormitories. "Which is good, because the stupid Squid will bump into it from time to time."

"Squid or Squib?" Gregory asked, and Draco grinned.

"'Squid', though it wouldn't be a bad idea to throw Filch in there either."

This was it. Harry followed his roommates into the large, lantern-lit tunnel – which had seven passages running along its right-hand side. Each of the passages led to the corresponding year's dormitory, so the first-years turned into the nearest passage and approached the emerald door (marked 'I') at its far end.

"I'll do the honours," said Draco, grasping the silver handle of the door, and opening it. "Ah! Just like Mother and Father both described!"

Everyone stared in awe at the large circular room. There were six four-poster beds hung with dark-green velvet curtains here; as well as greenish lanterns hung from the ceiling, a large silver carpet in the middle of the room, and a door between each bed and its dresser – leading to a private bathroom.

"All right," said Theodore. "Let's choose our beds!"

After a long and picky debate, the six students eventually agreed that Harry would have the bed at one o'clock (if viewing the room from above), Blaise at three, Gregory at five (the door was at six o'clock), Vincent at seven, Draco at nine, and Theodore at eleven. Harry then withdrew his pyjamas from his trunk and went to take the longest, hottest bath he'd yet had.

The first day of lessons couldn't come soon enough.


	4. The First Week

Harry's first breakfast at Hogwarts was as scrumptious as he'd expected. He wasted no time in taking a bit of everything, including pieces of chicken, meat, vegetables, a handful of rice, some tomato sauce and mayonnaise, and whatever else he could reach.

"Morning," said Blaise, the first of Harry's roommates to arrive. Blaise slid onto the bench opposite Harry and gave a slight raise of the cheeks while eyeing Harry's plate. "You sure you can eat all that? I'm not even that hungry."

Harry nodded. Then he saw the rest of his roommates arrive, and Draco frowning as he approached the table.

"Why are we sitting here again? Let's move to the middle."

"I like it here," said Harry, after having stripped his chicken to the bone. "Too crowded down there, you know?"

"Yeah, well, I don't want to be about twenty yards away from the staff table," said Draco. "I prefer the middle."

"Me too," said Blaise.

The girls arrived about fifteen minutes later and had no problems sitting at the end of the table again. Susan sat down opposite Harry, with Tracey sitting on her left, and Daphne and Pansy sitting to the right of Harry.

"Good morning," said Susan. "What do you think we'll have first? I'm thinking Potions, maybe."

"Probably the plant stuff," said Harry.

Daphne giggled, and said, "It's called 'Herbology'," while Pansy and Tracey were discussing Astronomy. "Her – bar – ler – gy. All right," – she clapped her hands together – "time for some scran."

"I think he's had enough for the whole day," Susan said. "When do you think we'll get our timetables?"

"As soon as Professor Snape decides to hand them out, cop girl."

Ignoring Pansy's remark, Susan chose to focus on her breakfast and await the arrival of Professor Snape, whoever he was.

"He's the angry one next to the silly turban-man, right?" Susan asked, and Daphne nodded. "And to think turban man's supposed to be teaching us Defence Against the Dark Arts. He looks more like he'll run from a garden gnome, or something."

"If you've got a problem," said Pansy, "then go and arrest him."

"Shut up."

_"Wew, wew."_

Harry had to admit that Susan did have a point. Professor Quirrell was just sitting there like a nervous fool, in stark contrast to the hook-nosed teacher, Professor Snape, sitting beside him.

"Er," – (Harry didn't know what to call Daphne and friends) – "guys, I don't think Professor Snape likes me. He's giving me the angry look."

"'Guys'?" Tracey asked, lowering her brows. "Do we look like boys to you? That's mean."

"Yeah," said Pansy. "How would you like it if we called you 'girl', huh?"

Harry apologised, though he found the whole thing to be hilarious.

"Anyway," said Pansy, "Professor Snape looks at everyone like that. My cousin Alyssa told me so. She was here for a year and then left for France."

Daphne turned to Harry and said, "She's the one who was with us in the wand shop."

The topic then shifted away from Professor Snape, and on to Alyssa Parkinson. Apparently, the main reason why Alyssa had transferred to Beauxbatons was due to a tumultuous year involving students getting trapped in portraits, for some odd reason.

"That's nuts!" said Susan, chuckling. Then she looked at Daphne and said, "So she's your cousin too, right?"

Daphne looked up at the clear 'sky' above, and placed her finger on her chin while speaking. "Erm, I'm on Pansy's mum's side, and Alyssa's on Pansy's dad's side. So ... not really, no."

"The portrait-thing and whatever else was all sorted out in the end, though," said Pansy. "I doubt you'll hear anyone even mention it these days, even though some of them are still here."

After what felt like ages, the Heads of House started distributing the timetables among their students. Harry felt a sense of dread as Professor Snape got up and approached the Slytherin table.

"Good morning, sir," said Harry. Professor Snape completely ignored him.

"Wow," Susan whispered. "I think you might be right, Harry."

In any case, Harry had better things to do than to ponder the mysteries behind Professor Snape's cold attitude towards him. He therefore shifted his attention towards the piece of parchment in his hands, which read:

_**Monday** _

_(09:00–10:00) History of Magic_

_Break_

_(10:30–11:30) Herbology (with Ravenclaw)_

_Lunch_

_(13:00–14:00) Transfiguration_

_(14:00–15:00) Charms_

_(15:00–16:00) Free_

_**Tuesday** _

_(09:00–10:00) Astronomy Theory_

_Break_

_(10:30–11:30) Herbology (with Ravenclaw)_

_Lunch_

_(13:00–14:00) Defence Against the Dark Arts_

_(14:00–15:00) Defence Against the Dark Arts_

_(15:00–16:00) Free_

_**Wednesday** _

_(09:00–10:00) History of Magic_

_Break_

_(10:30–11:30) Charms_

_Lunch_

_(13:00–14:00) Herbology (with Ravenclaw)_

_(14:00–15:00) Transfiguration_

_(15:00–16:00) Free_

_**Thursday** _

_(00:00–01:30) Astronomy (with Hufflepuff)_

_(09:00–10:00) Free_

_Break_

_(10:30–11:30) History of Magic_

_Lunch_

_(13:00–14:00) Astronomy Theory_

_(14:00–15:00) Free_

_(15:00–16:00) Free_

_**Friday** _

_(09:00–10:00) Potions (with Gryffindor)_

_Break_

_(10:30–11:30) Potions (with Gryffindor)_

_Lunch_

_(13:00–14:00) Free_

_(14:00–15:00) Free_

_(15:00–16:00) Free_

There was also a brief description of where each class was held.

"Can't believe we actually have a midnight class," Pansy said, and then she let out a rather dramatic sigh. "Oh well, at least we get a late breakfast, maybe."

Just then, the group watched in awe as about a hundred owls arrived with the morning post, swooping down upon their recipients at the tables. From the look of things, Harry, Daphne, and Draco were the only Slytherin first-years who'd brought owls – or any pets – to school, though Draco's was the only one to deliver anything that morning.

"Sweeties from his mommy," Pansy said, giggling as she watched Draco further down the table. "Mrs Malfoy's quite nice. Me and Daphne met her a few times over the years."

"Yeah," said Tracey. "I'll bet she's only _nice_ to certain people. Imagine if one of us" – she gestured between herself, Harry, and Susan – "were to introduce ourselves and our blood-status?"

"Eh, Harry's a bit of an exception there," said Pansy. "Anyway, let's get to class! Lead the way, cop girl."

Susan rolled her eyes and stood up from her seat. The group of four left the Great Hall even before the bell had rang to signal the start of classes.

"So, where we headed?" Pansy asked.

"Do you even read?" said Susan. "Maybe I should call you 'illiterate girl'."

_"Wew, wew."_

History of Magic was located on the first floor, which meant a trip up the marble staircase followed by walking through the first-floor corridor. But as the first-years soon learned, navigating Hogwarts was a lot easier said than done. Even a single floor had countless sets of doors (both real and fake), doors which needed to be tickled in the right place, doors which needed to be asked politely, the possibility of running into Peeves the poltergeist, numerous corridors, as well as many staircases, shortcuts, and all sorts of other features (or hindrances).

"Urgh! This is so _irritating_!" said Pansy, as the group came across yet another fake door that morning. Pansy took off one of her Mary Janes and threw it at the 'door', causing Susan to lower her eyelids in a 'Really now?' kind of way.

"And what's the point of that?"

"Yeah," said Tracey. "Put on your shoe and let's get to class already. Can't wait to learn about all sorts of magical history!"

Silliness aside, the group followed the corridor for a few more minutes until finally reaching their destination, after which Draco and the rest arrived as well. However, History of Magic soon turned out to be, well, boring ... which was a shame, considering the importance of this subject.

"Guess Mom was right after all," Pansy said at the end of the lecture, as the Slytherin first-years walked out feeling light-headed and yawning. "Binns doesn't care about our names or if we're even listening. His only purpose in life – er, 'death' – is to just sit there reading his facts."

"Which is excellent," said Draco, "as that's one less subject to worry about. Just need to memorise some stupid names, dates, and whatever else, and we're all set. Easy pass."

Instead of lazing around or playing games during the morning break, Harry and the rest decided upon making their way to the greenhouses. They tried memorising as many landmarks as they could along the way, which they hoped would make subsequent trips much easier than the first.

"Wait a sec," Tracey said, once the group had reached the greenhouses. "I just saw Weasley asking for the best route to Binns's class."

"Yeah, me too," said Pansy. "And he looked even dirtier than usual. So maybe the Gryffindors had Herbology first?"

Harry's roommates, on the other hand, couldn't care less about the Gryffindors. They were far more interested in their Ravenclaw classmates, who exited the castle and made their way towards the greenhouses. For some reason, Harry got the feeling that Draco and Theodore were on friendly terms with some of the Ravenclaws, which was proven false once he overheard his two roommates whispering to each other.

"Think they'll sabotage us or each other first to get ahead?" Draco whispered.

"Both, probably."

"Pfft, I'd like to see them try," Draco whispered, just seconds before he and Theodore smiled at the approaching Ravenclaws. "Hello. Nice weather we're having, eh? I'm Draco Malfoy, and these are my roommates Theodore Nott, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Blaise Zabini, and of course – as you all know – Harry Potter."

Susan cleared her throat in an obvious, attention-seeking way before introducing herself and her roommates – though the Ravenclaws hardly cared. They were far more interested in Harry, and crowded around him to introduce themselves. Harry could barely remember their names by the time their meet and greet was over.

The bell rang, and the class made their way into the greenhouse for their first Herbology lesson at Hogwarts. It was fun, though Harry couldn't bring himself to enjoy Professor Sprout's class all that much. Digging in the dirt reminded him too much of all the times Petunia had made him slave away in her garden.

"You'd better get used to it," Susan told Harry after class. "Why the long face anyway?"

No way was Harry going to tell Susan – or anyone – about his upbringing. "I don't like digging in the dirt," he said.

They were walking through a corridor towards the Entrance Hall when Susan gave a slight snort, and said, "Afraid to get your nails dirty?"

"No, it's just ... never mind."

"Tell me."

"I said 'no'."

Harry made it clear that he didn't wish to discuss this any further. The last thing he needed was to have the vultures (such as Rita Skeeter) on his back, so he changed the topic to Professor McGonagall's class instead. It worked, as Susan was happy to discuss whatever she'd been told about Transfiguration.

"It's like Charms but _way_ harder," she said, stopping to view the house-point hourglasses in the Entrance Hall. "Let's have a quick lunch so we can squeeze in some extra reading, OK?"

"Yeah, Professor McGonagall looks really strict."

After a hasty lunch (Harry's first one at Hogwarts, it had to be said), Harry and Susan were joined by Daphne, Pansy, and Tracey in the Entrance Hall. None of them wished to make fools out of themselves in the Deputy Headmistress's class, so they chose to study in the courtyard until the bell rang. However, just when Harry was about to approach Professor McGonagall's door, he was approached by Draco and the boys.

"OK, listen up," Draco said, crossing his arms while standing in the cloister around the courtyard. "The Deputy Headmistress is about as close as you'll get to the idiot on top. I'd suggest getting her to make Dumbledore move you. I know Father would be happy to have you at our esteemed estate."

"Sorry, what?" Harry couldn't believe what he'd just heard.

Draco shrugged and said, "Doesn't take a genius to see that there's some truth to what Skeeter said –"

Just then, Blaise tapped on Draco's shoulder and mentioned that Professor McGonagall had arrived, to which Draco immediately backed off. They stood in silence as Professor McGonagall unlocked the door and ordered the students inside.

"See?" Pansy whispered to Harry at the door. "Draco's nice, just like his mom."

"No, he's not," Susan whispered. "Doesn't take a genius to see that Malfoy Manor's the last place someone like Harry should call home."

To be honest, the Dursleys weren't much better either.

"But I don't see him defending his Muggles," Pansy whispered, as they moved to take their seats in front of the class. "So something's obviously not right –"

"That's quite enough whispering," Professor McGonagall said. "Any more, and I'll be taking points from Slytherin." She proceeded to issue a stern warning against messing around in her class, followed by changing her desk to a pig and back, and making the class copy a lot of complicated notes before starting on the basics of Transfiguration. By the end of the lesson, Harry was the only student who'd made a significant change to their matchstick, although he'd expected more from his efforts.

"A decent effort, Potter. Two points to Slytherin." Professor McGonagall held up the wooden needle and showed the class how Harry had at least managed to achieve the form of his intended target. Harry couldn't help but notice a flicker of annoyance on Draco's face nearby.

"I saw it too," Susan whispered to Harry a few minutes later, as the group were climbing a staircase to the third floor. "Jealousy can be really nasty, Harry. Better watch out."

That same flicker showed itself again in Charms, when Harry partially succeeded in casting the Wand-Lighting Charm. He'd snuck a glance in Draco's direction and saw Draco eyeing his own, unlit wand with the slightest of frowns on his face.

"Excellent, Mr Potter!" Professor Flitwick said (or rather, squeaked) in front of Harry's desk. "Five points to Slytherin!"

When the bell rang, Harry checked his timetable and saw that all of the first-years were done for the day, so he chose to head back to the common room and get started on some of his homework. It was cold and quiet in here, especially as most of the house (and school) were still in class for their three o'clock to four o'clock slot.

Just over an hour later, as the common room began to fill up, Harry saw a familiar face headed his way. It was Yasmin Shafiq, that kind girl with lightly-tanned skin and almond-shaped blue eyes, who had helped him on the train. She pulled out a chair opposite Harry and sat with her elbows on the table.

"So, how was your first day?" Yasmin asked. "I heard you earned us seven points already. Well done."

For the first time in his life, Harry was able to talk freely about his first day at school. It was brilliant, especially as Yasmin took the time to actually listen, unlike the Dursleys. Five minutes turned to ten, and then fifteen as Harry spoke at length about all sorts of things, including Draco Malfoy's behaviour.

"... I think he's jealous of me," Harry whispered.

"Totally," said Yasmin. "'Friends' like that will smile with you, laugh with you, and hang out with you; but at the end of the day, hate it when they're not as good as you. And the more that gap grows, the more insecure they become."

"So what can I do, then?"

"Nothing, for now," said Yasmin. "Just ignore his rubbish and keep your guard up. This is only the beginning."

* * *

The next day started with Astronomy Theory (Professor Sinistra was a strict woman, as too many students were said to fool around in Astronomy), followed by the morning break and then Herbology. Then came lunch, after which the Slytherins had their first (and much-anticipated) Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson at Hogwarts.

"G - good m - morning, young Slytherins," Professor Quirrell said. He was standing beside his desk and had a piece of parchment in his hands, from which he took the register. Then, when Professor Quirrell reached Harry's name, Harry suddenly winced as a surge of pain shot through his scar.

"What's wrong?" Tracey whispered beside Harry (while Professor Quirrell ended on 'Zabini, Blaise'). She narrowed her eyes behind her oval glasses as Harry said that he was fine. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, totally."

Unfortunately, Professor Quirrell's class turned out to be a joke. It was little more than two hours' worth of nauseating stink, and stories which were equally as bad. No wonder Mad-Eye Moody took Harry back to the bookstore last month, upon seeing Quirrell.

Harry wasn't impressed.

"If next week's lesson turns out to be _this_ poor," he told his classmates while walking down the corridor after class, "I'm putting in a complaint."

"Who cares?" said Draco. "I think it's funny that the general standard's so low. Makes it easier to shine, don't you think?"

"Maybe," Harry said. So that was Draco's mindset, eh? At least he was foolish enough to blurt it out for everyone to hear, though Harry reckoned Theodore and Blaise were already of the same mindset anyway. And who knows whether or not that spiteful attitude extended towards outshining one another as well?

Nothing much happened the next day apart from Harry almost achieving a full Wand-Lighting Charm in class; and Draco, Theodore, and Tracey getting a flicker of light on their wands. Then, later that day, Harry and the rest of the first-year Slytherins were given a talk by their fifth-year prefects, in their common room.

"Listen up," said Prefect Burke, standing beside Prefect Saxon. "We strongly recommend getting in a nap before you're off to Astronomy. It's not going to be a simple class-lesson like in the day, so catch some Zs for your own sakes."

Heeding the prefects' advice, the first-years took a nap at around nine o'clock in the evening and were later woken up at around half past eleven. The prefects then escorted them all the way up to the top of the Astronomy Tower, where they were joined by the Hufflepuffs for a freezing lesson beneath the stars. It was a good thing that they were relatively wide-awake at that hour, as Professor Sinistra wasted no time in getting tonight's (or rather, that morning's) practical lesson underway.

After being escorted back to the common room and getting a good night's sleep, the first-years freshened up and made their way to the Great Hall. Breakfast was followed by a free period, the morning break, and then History of Magic before lunch, with Astronomy Theory being their only lesson thereafter.

"I'm starting to like Thursdays," Draco said after Astronomy Theory had finished. "But tomorrow's going to be even better, am I right?"

"Yeah," said Theodore. "Double Potions, and that's it. Can't wait to see the Gryffindumbs squirm."

* * *

Harry received his first post at Hogwarts on Friday morning. It was a rather untidy letter from Hagrid, who invited Harry to the former's cabin that afternoon. Harry, of course, saw no reason to reject the offer, and responded positively to the invitation. The Slytherins then stood up twenty minutes ahead of the bell and left early for their first (and only) class of the day. They reached Professor Snape's classroom in just under two minutes after having left the Great Hall.

"By the way, Harry," Draco said while standing beside the locked door. "I'm sure you know by now that house and blood comes first, right? Which means Granger's the past, got it?"

"No, she's not," Harry said, and Susan was quick to back him up.

"Blah, blah, blah," she told Draco. "Same thing every day. Who cares?"

"I do," said Draco. "And so does everyone else, right?"

Vincent and Gregory simply agreed with whatever Draco had said, though the rest of the group were hardly paying any attention. Theodore, Blaise, Daphne, Pansy, and Tracey had decided upon doing some last-minute revision before their first Potions class.

"Come on," Susan said, looking over her shoulder to see if the Gryffindors had yet arrived in the corridor. "Just let Harry do whatever he wants and be happy about it, OK?"

"Be 'happy' about what?" Draco asked, blinking in surprise. "That he's making friends with _Mudbloods_?"

"You're going to lose us points with that word," said Susan, and Draco shrugged.

"Just stating the facts."

"All right, enough!" said Theodore, gesturing a slight nod to his right. "Don't let the Gryffindors hear us arguing over one of them. They're not that special."

"We're not arguing," said Draco. "I'm just ... trying to help him see things better."

"That's why he wears glasses," said Susan. The Slytherins all laughed, even Harry.

"What's the joke?" Ron Weasley asked. He was walking ahead of the Gryffindor group, whose plain-black uniforms were nearly identical to the Slytherins'.

"You are," said Draco. "And your whole family as well."

"And you're a slimy, Slytherin –"

"Ronald," Hermione said. "Don't argue. Professor Snape's on his way as we speak."

"Yeah," said Draco, sneering. "Listen to your Muggle-born superior. And to think your family couldn't sink any lower, Weasley."

"She's not my 'superior'. Definitely not this –"

It was a good thing that Seamus Finnigan muttered, "Let it go," before pulling Weasley away, as Harry then saw the tiny figure of Professor Snape appear further up the corridor.

"See how easy it is to rile them up?" Harry heard Draco whisper to a sniggering Theodore and Blaise, as the Gryffindors distanced themselves from the Slytherins. "Stupid hot-heads."

Harry, meanwhile, chose to approach Hermione – who was sitting away from everyone else.

"Hey, er, how's your first week been?" Harry asked. "Care to share your timetable?"

"Only if you share yours," Hermione said, withdrawing a piece of parchment from one of her robes' pockets, and exchanging it with Harry. "Ohhhh, now this is interesting!"

While Hermione was reading (and, of course, critiquing) Harry's timetable, Harry ran his eyes down hers and saw:

_**Monday** _

_(09:00–10:00) Herbology (with Hufflepuff)_

_Break_

_(10:30–11:30) History of Magic_

_Lunch_

_(13:00–14:00) Astronomy Theory_

_(14:00–15:00) Free_

_(15:00–16:00) Free_

_**Tuesday** _

_(09:00–10:00) Charms_

_Break_

_(10:30–11:30) Transfiguration_

_Lunch_

_(13:00–14:00) Herbology (with Hufflepuff)_

_(14:00–15:00) History of Magic_

_(15:00–16:00) Free_

_**Wednesday** _

_(00:00–01:30) Astronomy (with Ravenclaw)_

_(09:00–10:00) Herbology (with Hufflepuff)_

_Break_

_(10:30–11:30) History of Magic_

_Lunch_

_(13:00–14:00) Astronomy Theory_

_(14:00–15:00) Free_

_(15:00–16:00) Free_

_**Thursday** _

_(09:00–10:00) Charms_

_Break_

_(10:30–11:30) Transfiguration_

_Lunch_

_(13:00–14:00) Defence Against the Dark Arts_

_(14:00–15:00) Defence Against the Dark Arts_

_(15:00–16:00) Free_

_**Friday** _

_(09:00–10:00) Potions (with Slytherin)_

_Break_

_(10:30–11:30) Potions (with Slytherin)_

_Lunch_

_(13:00–14:00) Free_

_(14:00–15:00) Free_

_(15:00–16:00) Free_

"Ha! Mine's better," he said, and Hermione shook her head.

"Nope. You're going to get lazy with that free period first thing on your Astronomy day."

"Says who?"

Just then, Harry saw a shadow fall on him and Hermione as Professor Snape arrived and stood before a brazier.

"And why, might I ask, are the two of you loitering outside when I've already unlocked the door?" Professor Snape asked. "Does it say 'chat time' or 'Double Potions' on those timetables of yours? Inside. _Now_."

Just when Harry was about to follow Hermione to wherever she was planning on sitting, Professor Snape conveniently strode between them and broke up the pair. Harry was therefore left with no choice but to choose the next-best seat that he could find – beside Susan.

"Yeah, he really doesn't like you," Susan whispered.

Meanwhile, Professor Snape began his lengthy introduction to the subtle science and exact art of potion-making, after which he turned on the spot to face Harry and said, "Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"Draught of ... something. I forgot, Professor."

"Tut, tut – fame clearly isn't everything." Snape ignored Hermione's hand as he then said, "Let's try again. Where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione's hand was stretched as high as it could without her leaving her seat, and Harry paused for a moment before saying, "In the stomach of a goat, sir. It cures most poisons."

"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane, Potter?"

Hermione was practically standing in her seat at this point.

_Why's he asking me everything?_ "Nothing," said Harry, while Susan gave a slight sigh of relief beside him. "They're the same plant, also called aconite."

Snape moved away from Harry and addressed the class as a whole. He mentioned that asphodel and wormwood made a sleeping potion so powerful that it was known as the Draught of Living Death, after which Snape moved on to putting the students into pairs for their first lesson of the year. Sure, the process of brewing was indeed challenging, but Neville Longbottom somehow managed to make the worst mistake of the group.

"Idiot boy!" said Snape, clearing the spilled potion with a wave of his wand (was that a charm or a Transfiguration spell, Harry wondered?). Then he admonished Longbottom for misreading the instructions, followed by having Seamus Finnigan take Longbottom up to the hospital wing. "Let that be a lesson with regards to reading," Snape told the rest of the class.

"Whew," said Susan, climbing off her stool and sitting down once the hot mess was sorted out. "Better him than us, huh?"

Harry ignored her in favour of carrying on with their potion. He followed each and every instruction to the letter, in order to avoid becoming the next Neville Longbottom – or dunderhead – in this class. And by the end of the lesson, Harry was relieved to find that his and Susan's efforts merited a lack of snide remarks from Professor Snape.

"That's week one done!" said Daphne, exhaling in a loud, exaggerated manner while walking between Harry and Susan in the corridor. "So, what we doing for the weekend? Catch up on some work or have some fun in the sun?"

"Both," said Harry, "but I've got to visit Hagrid first."

Later that day, at around five to three, Harry made his way across the grounds towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Some of the others, such as Daphne and Susan, had initially planned on joining Harry but ultimately chose to prioritise their homework instead. Then there were those such as Draco's lot, who expressed contempt at Harry spending time with 'the local savage'.

Hagrid, however, was anything but the barbaric drunk that Draco often described (as Harry already knew from past experience), and Harry ended up having a great time discussing all sorts of things with Hagrid in his cabin. They spoke at length regarding Harry's first week of school, his house ("Yeh'd best try an' avoid people like Malfoy as much as yeh can,"), and whether or not Harry had any issues thus far.

"Not really," said Harry, sitting at the table while trying to eat his rock cake, "unless you count Professor Snape, for whatever reason."

"Yeah, well, Professor Snape's like tha' with everyone."

The longer this topic went on, the more Harry suspected that Hagrid knew more than he was letting on. Harry therefore pushed through with his questioning, refusing to believe that Snape hadn't targeted him, specifically, that morning.

"Well, I mean – an' don' take this personally ..." Hagrid's eyes darted around the room, probably as he was trying to find anything else to discuss at this point. "S'pose you could say Snape has a bit o' issues in his life, yeah."

"And I'm somehow one of them, right? It's the Dursleys all over again."

Hagrid's brows immediately ceased their creasing, and his expression softened in an instant. "Now don' you go sayin' stuff like tha' around here, Harry. This is Hogwarts! Best school in the world! So what if Snape didn' like yer dad? Jus' ignore him an' focus on making yer parents proud. If Professor Dumbledore says yeh'll do great in Slytherin, then yeh'll do great."

"What's Professor Snape got against my dad?" Harry asked, his heart thumping in his chest. "He's dead."

"Ferget I said anythin'. An' don' go bringin' that topic up with Professor Snape. Avoid it like a herd o' angry centaurs, if you know what's good fer you."

Well, if anything, at least Harry now knew what was going through his Head of House's head. Did Snape have some sort of old school-grudge against James Potter? And for what? Why should Harry make an effort to dampen his own issues while a professional like Snape could go around hating on one of his own students?

What a loser.


	5. Taking Flight

As the second week of term got underway, Harry's roommates were becoming more and more insistent with their anti-Dumbledore notions. Draco, in particular, was insisting almost daily that Harry 'stand his ground' and 'act like a proper wizard' by getting Professor Dumbledore to move him away from 'those Muggles'. Once again, Harry understood where his roommates were coming from, but then where in the world would Harry end up staying? The Malfoys were a bunch of hateful swine, Vincent and Gregory didn't exactly have the brightest upbringing, and Harry had heard some odd things about Blaise's mother and Theodore's father respectively (including the fact that either Mr Nott or his father had published some ridiculous excuse of pure-blood propaganda).

But Harry couldn't care less about his roommates and their attitudes. They were just a footnote of annoyance compared to how he felt about Quirrell's second pathetic-lesson in two weeks. Now _that_ was something worth speaking to the staff, and perhaps Professor Dumbledore, about.

"Can't believe we got to put up with Quirrell," Harry told Tracey on Tuesday afternoon after class. "Why's nobody else complaining?"

"It's what Malfoy said last week, y'know?" Tracey said, shrugging. "Lower standards makes for easier standing out."

Harry's resentment over Defence Against the Dark Arts didn't last long, however, as he later heard that flying lessons would be starting from Thursday onwards. So with that in mind, Harry smiled as he removed the ' _(15:00–16:00) Free_ ' slot on Thursday afternoon from his timetable and replaced it with ' _(15:30–16:30) Flying Lessons (with Gryffindor)_ '.

"Can't wait to learn how to fly," he told the rest of the first-years, who were sharing a long common-room table with him.

"Don't feel bad if it's a real struggle for you, though," Draco said. "I mean, you've got about as much experience as a Mudblood, thanks to Dumbledore."

Harry ignored him, though Susan wasn't in the mood for Draco's snide remarks. Susan lowered her brows and said that for all they knew, Harry might end up doing just fine on a broomstick.

"... and shut up about Professor Dumbledore already," she said. "You're like a broken gramophone, Malfoy."

"And so's Dumbledore when he spouts his stupid nonsense out there," said Theodore, picking up where Draco left off. "He's got three jobs and equally sucks at them all."

Daphne, meanwhile, was sitting with her chin on her hands while looking at Harry. You could hardly miss those blue eyes when they were staring right at you from across the table.

"I think you'll do great," she told Harry in a soft tone. "Just don't listen to any divvies, OK?"

"What's a 'divvy'?"

"An idiot," Daphne said.

* * *

Harry spent his free period on Thursday morning reading up on the basics of flying. But as it turned out, and as Harry had expected, this wasn't something you could just pick up from a book. So he gave up and carried on with his schedule until it was time for lunch, where he overheard his roommates swap all sorts of flying stories at the Slytherin table.

"I wish they'd just shut up already," Tracey said while trying to finish her chicken salad opposite Harry. "S'making me nervous."

Pansy snorted and said, "At least you're not as bad as Granger over there. Books won't teach her how to fly. No offence to you or your pal, Harry."

At that moment, Susan, who was sitting on Harry's left, directed the group's attention to the Gryffindor table, where Neville Longbottom was holding up some kind of large, reddish marble. "Hey, isn't that a Remembrall?"

"A what?" Harry asked, and Pansy swallowed her crumbed calamari before looking at him.

"You forgot something," she said.

"What makes you say that?"

"You forgot something," Pansy repeated, this time grinning at the confused look on Harry's face. "Harry, you forgot something." Then she added "You forgot something" in a sing-song voice.

Harry decided to ignore Pansy and her silliness.

"She's just teasing you," said Susan. "But that's basically what a Remembrall does, you know. It glows red if you hold it while having forgotten something, though it doesn't say what."

"Sounds useless," said Harry.

"Just like Longbottom," said Pansy.

While Harry and the girls discussed Longbottom's new gift, Draco took it upon himself to actually approach the Gryffindor table (with Vincent and Gregory backing him up, of course). Draco snatched the Remembrall from Longbottom, causing Finnigan and Weasley to jump to their feet – though Draco returned the Remembrall just as Professor McGonagall arrived on scene.

"Flying's going to be a long lesson with those idiots together," Susan said, tightening her lips in a straight line. "Let's hope Madam Hooch can stop their stupidity."

Lunch hour was followed by Astronomy Theory, in which Professor Sinistra gave them a stern warning against daydreaming about broomsticks in her classroom. Harry was therefore left with no choice but to stare at Professor Sinistra's latest constellation of study: Orion. All seemed well until she started lecturing on the Gamma Orionis star, at which point Harry noticed Draco looking a tad uncomfortable while shifting in his desk, to the right of Harry's.

"What's up?"

"Nothing," Draco whispered, keeping his eyes on the blackboard ahead. "Just thinking about that idiot Longbottom and his stupid Remembrall."

Once the bell rang, Harry left Professor Sinistra's class alongside Pansy and Tracey, who decided upon carrying on with their Transfiguration homework. They spent the next hour or so in the library, followed by exiting the castle and making their way towards a smooth lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the Forbidden Forest.

The Gryffindors had already arrived, so the Slytherins wasted no time in standing beside the remaining brooms lying on the grass. Then, seconds later, Madam Hooch arrived and got things started. She explained and demonstrated the basics of summoning a broom, after which she had the group of eighteen students practise the task.

"Up!" they all shouted, and to Harry's surprise, his broomstick jumped into his hand at once – though it was one of the few that did. The only other students who were standing with a broomstick in hand were Draco, Theodore, Blaise, Fay Dunbar (a girl with fair skin and long, dark-brown hair), and Ronald Weasley.

"Look at Granger –" Pansy whispered beside Harry, though she stopped upon seeing him clench his jaw. "I don't get it, man. Why're you so uptight about her but don't care about, say, Longbottom?"

To be honest, Harry couldn't care less about the chubby blond-boy and his problems. He'd much rather offer Hermione his assistance.

"That tone of yours sounds far too frightened, boy," Madam Hooch told a quavering Longbottom. "And as for you –"

"Hermione Granger," Hermione said, introducing herself without being asked or cued.

"– that posture is far too rigid for this task. For beginners, brooms respond best to level-headed confidence. Now try again."

Five minutes later saw Susan, Pansy, and Parvati Patil summon their brooms as well, bringing the overall success-rate to fifty per cent as Madam Hooch began her demonstration on mounting a broomstick. She then walked up and down the rows to correct the students' grips (Draco had been doing it wrong over the years), after which it was time to finally kick off.

"On my whistle, kick off from the ground, hard," Madam Hooch said. "Three – two –"

Longbottom pushed off hard even before Madam Hooch could bring her whistle to her lips. He rose like a cork shot out of a bottle. And while some of the Slytherins started sniggering, the rest of the students stared, mouths agape, at the pale-faced Longbottom rising higher by the second. Five feet, ten feet, fifteen feet ... he just kept on going until his fingers started slipping from their grip.

"He's going to fall!"

"I'm perfectly aware of that," Madam Hooch told a wide-eyed, gasping Susan. The former was standing with her left hand on her hip, and with her right hand at her side, holding her wand. Cool and calm, Madam Hooch took aim once Longbottom slipped sideways off his broomstick, and fired a spell called _Molliare_ – which slowed Longbottom's descent until he came to a rest upon the smooth grass. "Dear, dear, this isn't going to work. Let's get you a Calming Draught from Madam Pomfrey."

After issuing a stern warning against unsupervised flying to the rest of the class, Madam Hooch helped the trembling Longbottom to his feet and took him back to the castle. No sooner were they out of earshot than Harry's roommates, as well as Pansy, burst into laughter.

"Did you see the idiot's face?" Draco asked. "What a useless lump –"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Parvati Patil said, and Pansy blinked.

"Never thought _you'd_ like fat little cry babies, Parvati."

At that moment, Draco darted forward and snatched the Remembrall out of the grass, causing Longbottom's roommates to step forward.

"That's not yours," Weasley said.

"Come and get it, then, Weasel. Pretend it's a Sickle – the most money you'll ever see."

"No!" said Hermione. "Ronald, you heard what Madam –"

"Stop telling me what to do!" Weasley yelled at Hermione (while Thomas and Finnigan snorted with laughter), and kicked off in pursuit of Draco in the air.

Harry, meanwhile, seized the opportunity to approach the red-faced Hermione and said, "So, er, anyway ... nuts, huh?"

"Idiots," Hermione said in a sniffy voice. She blinked hard before inhaling and exhaling in a loud, drawn-out manner. "We should start making plans for getting back all the points that Madam Hooch is going to deduct when she comes back. Professor Snape's not one to give, so our best chance is from Monday onwards."

"Need any help with that?"

"With what?"

"Your broom, of course." Harry smiled. "It's really easy. Just don't be scared or uptight or anything."

"Uptight?"

Since Harry already knew that Hermione was the overly-emotional sort, he tried to find a more polite way of speaking his mind. "Erm, I mean, Madam Hooch did tell you to ease up a bit. You're too tense."

"But what's the point of flying when there are less conspicuous ways of travelling?" Hermione asked. "It's overrated and increases the chances of being seen by Muggles."

"Do you want to pass this class or not?"

Hermione was about to speak when her eyes widened and she gasped. Then she spun Harry around just in time for him to see the Remembrall crashing to pieces on a rocky section of the lawn, followed by Draco landing between a grinning Vincent and Gregory – and Weasley crashing at a forty-five-degree angle near a screaming Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. But none of that made the students back off as much as the arrival of Professor McGonagall, who came running across the lawn towards the first-years.

"Ronald Weasley! How dare you disregard Madam Hooch's instructions like that!"

"It wasn't his fault –"

"Silence, Miss Brown!" said Professor McGonagall, striding past a trembling Lavender to grab Weasley by the scruff of his neck. Professor McGonagall then hauled Weasley into a long-sitting position on the grass, and used her wand to conjure a sling for his right arm. "Off to Madam Pomfrey, _now_. And forty points" – the Gryffindors gasped – "will be deducted from Gryffindor for such disgraceful behaviour, Mr Weasley, in addition to two-nights' detention this week."

After that, Weasley did a walk of shame towards the castle, while Professor McGonagall watched the class like a hawk until the return of Madam Hooch. From the looks of it, Madam Hooch had either left Longbottom behind or dismissed him from the rest of the lesson, as Longbottom was nowhere to be seen.

"Am I another student down, Minerva?" Madam Hooch asked, after doing a headcount of the remaining students.

"Three, actually: Longbottom, Weasley, and Malfoy."

"But I'm standing right here," Draco said, and Professor McGonagall turned to face him.

"Let's see ... forty points from Slytherin for disregarding Madam Hooch's instructions, ten for instigating conflict, twenty for injuring another student, and twenty for the theft and destruction of another student's property. Now, let's go have a word with Professor Snape about any further punishments."

" _Ninety_ points?" Pansy said in a loud whisper to her group of girls. "For real?"

" _I_ think it's fair, considering all he's done," said Hermione. And just when Harry's remaining roommates (Theodore, Vincent, Gregory, and Blaise) stepped forward, so did Harry put himself between them and Hermione.

"She's right."

"What?" Theodore blinked as his mouth fell open. "You can't seriously be taking her side –"

"Enough," said Madam Hooch, checking her watch. "There's been enough distractions already. Mount your brooms and let's get going. Remember to keep your brooms steady, rise only a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning a bit forward. On my whistle ..."

Harry mounted his broomstick and kicked off hard once Madam Hooch blew into her whistle. Up, up Harry soared, and as the air rushed through his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him, Harry felt all stress and worries leave him in an instant.

"Oh great," Pansy said to Susan and Tracey beside her, as Harry kept on rising. "Don't tell me _he's_ gonna do a Longbottom, too?"

But Harry couldn't resist. He pulled his broomstick up to take it even higher than Madam Hooch had instructed.

"Harry!" Pansy called beneath him. "Where are you going, silly? Come back here!"

"We can't afford to lose any more points –" Susan said, which was drowned out by the wind in Harry's ears.

At this point, Harry wasn't sure how far up he'd flown. He did a loop in the air and sped up on the descent, ignoring the screams of the girls as he flew faster and faster until pulling his broom up to stop roughly a metre from the ground. Now _that_ was exhilarating. Harry was practically trembling as he climbed off his broom.

"Are you messin'?" Daphne came running over with the others to applaud Harry's stunt. "How come you never told us you can fly?"

"Yeah!" Pansy said on Daphne's right. "We thought you were gonna do a Longbottom!"

"Hey, don't insult Neville," said Lavender Brown.

Madam Hooch immediately dispersed the group, and came to a halt near Harry. "As extraordinary as that stunt was, Mr Potter, I'm afraid I'll have to take ten points from Slytherin for failing to follow my instructions. Now, if we're done with all the drama, let's practise the basics of taking off and landing again. _No_ fancy moves or disobeying my instructions this time, understand?"

Ten points was loads better than ninety, so Harry chose to keep his head down for the remainder of the lesson. He could hardly believe how easy it was to fly a broom, especially considering that he had no previous experience in doing so. Was this a talent, perhaps? Daphne certainly agreed, and was the most vocal of the group as they returned to the castle after class.

"It's a talent, Harry!"

"I know."

"A talent!" Pansy said, mimicking Daphne's clap-of-the-hands gesture and gasping in delight. "No studying needed!"

"That's the dumbest thing I've heard," Susan said, frowning. "Talent or not, he still needs to practise and study."

Tracey was in agreement as well, and the four girls spent the entire trip to the Great Hall discussing Harry's newfound talent. They were in no mood to moan and groan about Draco's ridiculous loss of points, though the subject was later brought up in the common room that evening.

"So," said the tall, blond Prefect Burke, who was standing before the first-years at the fireplace. "A _hundred_ points within a single first-year lesson ... within the first two weeks. Is that a record, Camilla?"

The dark-haired Prefect Saxon, who was lounging on the left couch with her black boots up on the coffee table, shrugged. "Possibly, although anything could've happened over the years."

"In any case ..." Prefect Burke stepped forward to address Draco, who looked up and raised his brows. "Don't give me that cheeky look, Malfoy. Your father may be on the board of governors, but that doesn't give you free rein to do whatever you want. _Ninety_ points. What the hell did you catch on?"

"Don't act like you don't know," Draco said in a calm, composed tone. His voice wasn't even shaking, contrary to what Harry had expected (or would have done, had he been in Draco's place). "Not my fault Longbottom's a reckless idiot who brought a stupid glass ball to a flying class. And besides, Pot – Harry lost us points too, you know."

Harry fixed his gaze on the bright-orange flames behind the silhouetted Prefect Burke, determined to keep calm even as Draco was trying to scapegoat him. Fortunately, Prefect Burke hardly cared about a meagre ten-points loss compared to ninety. He spent the next ten minutes lecturing the first-years – especially Draco – about the importance of retaining the House Cup, and not acting like an idiot in public.

"Say whatever you want about the Gryffindors," Prefect Burke said, "but even they wouldn't be foolish enough to steal and break something in public, especially in front of Professor McGonagall!"

"How was I supposed to –"

"Always assume there's a teacher watching out there in the open," said Prefect Saxon. "Now shove off before we drag you to detention, Malfoy."

Once Draco had left for the dormitory (without a care in the world, it seemed), Harry stared at the ground as Prefect Burke approached him. Was he next in line to be admonished in front of everyone, including the older students who were gathering around the common room?

"So, Harry Potter," said Prefect Burke, standing with his hands behind his back. "Are your classmates lying, or did you really go and pull off a loop-the-loop and long-distance dive in class?"

"Wait, what –"

"Quiet," Prefect Burke told Marcus Flint, who was sitting in a far corner of the room, eating a plate full of chocolate éclairs. "Well, Potter?"

"I think so, yes."

"It's true," Daphne said. "He's got a talent for flying!"

"A big, big talent," Pansy said beside her. "If Harry wasn't a first-year, maybe he could win in tryouts."

Susan and Tracey joined in on the praise, and even the boys agreed that Harry had some degree of flying skills, though Harry himself doubted it. Perhaps it was simply beginner's luck back then.

"It was just a couple moves," Harry said.

"You need to take a bit more pride in your abilities," said Prefect Burke. "Assuming they're true, of course."

Daphne stomped her foot on the ground, scowled, and said, "It _is_ true! It _is_!"

"All right, all right," said Prefect Saxon, standing up from her seat. "Calm your feathers and go do some studies, little bird. All of you, actually."

Harry was later approached by Marcus Flint, who expressed interest in the former's 'extraordinary' flying skills. Marcus suggested that Harry practise in his free time and perhaps show up for tryouts, though Harry would still have to adhere to the first-year rule.

"No way I'll beat anyone on a school broom," said Harry. Marcus shrugged.

"That's how it is, unless I can speak to Professor Snape."

In that case, Harry didn't have much hope of flying anything other than a Cleansweep One or Two, a Comet One Forty, a Shooting Star, or whatever else was lying in the broom shed that year.

* * *

True to his word, Marcus approached Professor Snape on Friday morning, though it was Snape himself who provided a direct response to Harry in Potions class later. Snape was doing his usual inspections of the students' cauldrons when he approached Harry and Susan's desk and said, in a low voice: "If I so much as _hear_ that you're trying to upset the balance of my team, Potter, you may find yourself holding a different sort of broom soon."

"Sir?"

"He means detention," Susan whispered to Harry, while Snape carried on with his inspections elsewhere. "This is getting ridiculous. There's nothing stopping you from at least attending tryouts."

"Forget it. We're already in the negative after Draco's nonsense. I'd rather not make a fool of myself, too."

In stark contrast to the malevolence shown towards Harry, Snape had issued little more than a single detention to Draco (in addition to Professor McGonagall's punishments yesterday). There was no denying that Draco Malfoy remained one of Snape's favourite students, despite having crushed their early lead in the House Championship.

"He did give me a stern warning behind closed doors, though," Draco said in the corridor after class. "Oh, and I've got to buy the idiot a replacement Remembrall. Might as well owl Mother now."

"Oh, please," said Pansy, scoffing. "That marble junk's as cheap as they come."

"Maybe buy Longbottom a replacement arm too," Vincent said. "Might make him better on a broom."

"And Weasley," said Gregory, causing most of the group to laugh. "Did you see him crash? Stupid idiot."

"All I care about now is getting us some more points," said Theodore, to which Blaise nodded. "So let's cut the rubbish and study hard for next week, OK?"

With the prospect of trying out for the house team squashed by Snape, Harry was in no mood to practise flying on his own, though Daphne wasn't having any of it.

"Oh, forget him," Daphne said on Saturday afternoon at lunch. "If we could just smuggle in a broom somehow –"

"– then Harry can practise in private!" said Pansy. Both Susan and Tracey leaned forward to join in on the hushed scheming.

"Let's get an older student to shrink it," said Tracey, much to the approval of her roommates. "But be careful, OK? Never know who might go snitching to Snape. Stupid tell-tales!"

"Yeah," said Susan. "They can be pretty mean at times. Did you see those third-years cuss at Malfoy when he asked for help on his homework earlier? Guess Daddy's influence isn't as high and mighty as he thinks."

That afternoon saw Harry and the girls approach one of the few older students whom they could trust: Yasmin Shafiq. Yasmin stared at the group, and the corners of her mouth rose to a smile as she sat in a corner of the common room listening to these first-years asking for her assistance.

"You know it's easier to revert an enlarged object than to actually go and shrink the thing further, right?" Yasmin said while sitting with one leg crossed over the other. "And when it comes to magical objects, such as brooms, things get even tougher. The more enchanted the object, the harder it is to change – even when it comes to the school's old rubbish."

Daphne lowered her upper eyelids as if to say 'Get to the point'. "Can you do it or not? 'Cause Harry's got a cob on about Snape's nonsense. What if he ends up crying, huh?"

"Hey, I don't cry," said Harry.

The group's insistence eventually made Yasmin agree to assist with their plans. So with everything set, the handful of first-years went all the way up to an abandoned classroom on the fifth floor, where Yasmin had agreed to meet them in half an hour's time.

"She'd better not come back with Snape in tow," said Daphne, turning to face Harry in the classroom. "Don't look so sad. You'll be on a broom in no time! Just, erm, don't crash in here, OK? I'm not legging it to Madam Pomfrey for you."

"If she does betray us," said Susan, "then I'm owling my auntie and –"

"What?" Pansy asked. "Get her to throw Shafiq in Azkaban? Don't be silly."

"She's just joking," said Tracey.

Twenty minutes later, Yasmin arrived and withdrew a foot-long Comet One Eighty from her black cloak. "Here you go, little bird. Happy? Oh, wait, _Engorgio_!"

"Go ahead and show her your talent, Harry!" Daphne said.

When Harry mounted the broom and kicked off in the classroom, Tracey added her bit by saying, "He's like a bee looking for honey. I like honey."

"Golden syrup is better," said Pansy. Tracey frowned.

"No, honey is better!"

As strange as it was to be flying indoors, Harry still found it to be as enjoyable as yesterday's lesson. He also found the Comet One Eighty to be more responsive compared to whatever Harry had flown back then. But all good things must come to an end, and after about twenty minutes of zooming around the classroom, Harry landed on the stone ground and climbed off the broom; his heart still pounding in his chest.

"Huh. Not bad," said Yasmin. She led the handful of students out into the corridor, while carrying the full-sized broom over her shoulder. "Next time, don't be so scared of Professor Snape. Just go outside and practise under supervision. Simple."

"We're not scared of Professor Snape," said Harry. "It's just ... I don't want to lose us any more points."

"Which won't happen if you're not breaking any rules, duh." Yasmin snorted with laughter. "Silly children, coming up with some elaborate scheme that wasn't even necessary in the first place. What's the hardest subject you've got so far, by the way?"

Daphne and Pansy both said "Transfiguration!", Susan found History of Magic to be rather tedious, Tracey said that Herbology was torturous in the heat, and Harry reckoned the study grind was beginning to pick up in Astronomy, especially with regards to the Orion constellation.

"Ah, Al Jabbar – 'The Giant'," said Yasmin, as the group of six turned to descend a staircase off the corridor. "I still remember a few stars from there – well, one of them you can't really forget."

"How come?" Harry asked.

"Gamma Orionis, as I'm sure you've been taught, is also known as 'Bellatrix'. That's the name of one of You-Know-Who's meanest followers currently in Azkaban. Scary, huh?"

"Did they all have space names?" Harry asked, almost missing a step while thinking about Lord Voldemort's army back in the day.

"No, but there was that one maniac called Sirius ... er –"

"Black," said Pansy. "He lost his marbles after You-Know-Who got killed, and then he blew up over a dozen people."

"Yeah, that's the story," said Yasmin, as the group exited the staircase. "A dozen Muggles plus a wizard whose name I forgot. Peter Pan, or something."

Harry didn't know whether to feel horrified at the tragedy or amused at Yasmin clearly getting that name wrong. "No way it's that," he said. "Peter Pan's one of my favourite Muggle-stories, though my cousin got to watch the musical live with his parents."

Susan stopped in her tracks. "Wait, are you saying your auntie and uncle didn't take you with to a family outing?"

"Who cares?" Harry couldn't believe that he'd slipped up like that. "Let's get dinner. I'm starving."

When the group reached the marble staircase in the Entrance Hall, Harry hung back as he saw Hermione approach from the opposite end of the first-floor balcony.

"Nice to see you walking around," Harry said. "Hungry?"

"Definitely," said Hermione, "especially considering all the studying I've done in preparation to make up for Ronald's senseless points-loss. But at least forty is better than one hundred. Have _you_ been studying, hmm?"

"A little. But, erm ... I prefer flying."

Hermione placed her hands on her hips, and narrowed her eyes. "You shouldn't be wasting your time on that, not when your house is in the negative. Get studying, or you'll be sorry."

"Sure, whatever."

But Hermione wasn't in the least bit offended from the remark. On the contrary, she jabbered to her heart's content while accompanying Harry down the marble staircase and across the Entrance Hall.

"... so don't forget to study tomorrow, OK?"

"I'll think about it," Harry said. He turned left while Hermione walked straight once they'd entered the Great Hall. There would be time for studying at some other point. But for now, Harry helped himself to a hefty dinner before heading back to his common room, where he spent the rest of his evening playing Exploding Snap with his roommates.


	6. Big Boss and the Troll

Emboldened by his friends, Harry ignored Professor Snape's warning and spent a good portion of his free time reading up on Quidditch or practising with the school's brooms. They were slow and unsteady, but as long as they could take off from the ground, they were good enough for Harry. In fact, Harry would have said that flying was as easy as riding a bicycle, had he actually done that before in his life.

"Potter," Madam Hooch said at the end of her fifth lesson, during the second week of October, "why haven't you tried out for the Slytherin Quidditch team?"

"I wanted to, but Professor Snape –"

"Ah yes, of course." Madam Hooch nodded as she said those words. "In any case, you should have at least attended for the sake of gaining some experience."

True, but what Harry hadn't told Madam Hooch was that even if he had tried out for the team, he wasn't looking forward to failing in front of everyone. That would've been a painful reminder of his days back at St Grogory's, when Harry was often picked last for any sort of team-based activity. Nobody wanted to associate themselves with 'Dudley's cousin'.

"She's right, you know," Susan later told Harry, while walking across the lawn towards the castle. "You missed a great chance to take on Higgs, Harry."

Terence Higgs was the Slytherin Seeker. He was roughly a foot taller than Harry, had golden-brown hair, and was a decent flier overall. Harry knew he wouldn't have stood a chance against Higgs. And besides, there were more important things to worry about than Quidditch, such as the ever-present problem of Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Harry chose to give Quirrell's class one last chance to improve. And on the fifteenth of October (not too long after having celebrated Tracey's and Blaise's birthdays) Harry sat down as usual and was disappointed again, as usual.

"One and a half months is enough," Harry told Susan while walking across the grounds that afternoon. "Binns's bad too, yeah, but at least you can understand his curriculum. Quirrell, though ..."

"Doesn't seem like he wants to teach," Susan said. "Wonder what's on his mind?"

"Don't care. I'm going straight to the Headmaster for this. Forget Snape."

Feeling well within his right to complain, Harry made the journey up to wherever Professor Dumbledore's office was on the second floor. He went from corridor to corridor until, finally, coming across a large and ugly stone gargoyle, which was said to guard the entrance to the Headmaster's office.

"I need to see Professor Dumbledore, please," Harry said, though the gargoyle refused to move. "C'mon! I'm not going to rob the place or anything. Just let me through."

When no amount of pleading could produce any results, Harry crossed his arms, tilted his nose in the air a bit (as he'd seen Pansy do at times) and tried to stand as tall as he could.

"D'you know who I am?"

Nothing. The stone gargoyle wasn't in the least bit intimidated.

"Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment, Tweak," Harry tried to guess the Headmaster's password. "Merlin's Beard. Fancy Robes. Big Boss ..."

No matter what Harry said, the gargoyle refused to move – and Harry was left with no choice but to return to Susan at the edge of the lake. She suggested that he wait until dinner to approach Professor Dumbledore, though Harry had other ideas.

"Why don't I just send Hedwig to him? There's got to be windows in his office, right?"

"Don't you think that's a bit too much?" Susan asked. But when Harry insisted on going up to the Owlery, Susan stood up and joined him nonetheless. They made their way up to the fourth-floor corridor and then to the Owlery, where Harry sent Hedwig on her way with the letter. Then, with nothing else left to do for the day, Harry and Susan chose to wander around the castle – until they came across Professor Snape in the Entrance Hall.

"Tell me," said Snape, coming to a halt near the marble staircase, which Harry and Susan had just descended. "Since when do pint-sized students go straight to the Headmaster with whatever's on their mind? Next time you wish to communicate with Professor Dumbledore, Potter, then do so through one of the staff members, primarily your Head of House – understood?"

Harry nodded, and so did Susan.

"Regardless," said Snape, "Professor Dumbledore has agreed to meet you in his office this coming Friday after dinner. The password is _Fudge Flies_. Make sure to keep it within that overinflated head of yours, Potter."

Once Snape had strode off towards the Great Hall, Susan stuck out her tongue and pulled down her left lower-eyelid behind his back. "Why does he have to be such a jerk about everything?"

The rest of the week turned out to be an exercise in patience for Harry. He couldn't wait to meet the Headmaster in the latter's office. Harry thought about all the things he'd like to complain about so far, with Professors Quirrell and Snape being right on top of that list.

"This is it," Draco told Harry on Friday evening, as they stood in the crowded Entrance Hall. "Your big chance to put that idiot in his place."

"Don't expect me to be rude," Harry said. "I'm going to sit down and have a decent conversation. No stupid nonsense."

"Fine, whatever. Suit yourself." Draco strode past the marble staircase, which Harry started to climb. "Just don't waste this opportunity, you hear?"

Having memorised his previous route to the Headmaster's office, Harry reached the stone gargoyle in less than five minutes before speaking the password. The gargoyle hopped aside as the wall behind it split into two – revealing a moving, escalator-like spiralling staircase which Harry rode to the top. Here he came across a gleaming oak door with a griffon-shaped bronze knocker, which Harry used to rap on the door until hearing Professor Dumbledore's voice from within.

"Enter."

Harry stepped into the large circular room and paused upon seeing a collection of old portraits lining the walls (most of whom were fast asleep), a strange collection of silver instruments here and there, and a crimson bird the size of a swan. The bird was sitting on a golden perch behind the office door; it had golden talons, a glittering golden tail, a golden beak, and beady black eyes which were staring at Harry.

"Good evening, Harry," Professor Dumbledore said from behind his claw-footed desk. "Allow me to draw you up a chair."

And just like that, Professor Dumbledore did indeed draw a chair in midair with his wand. It revolved for a few seconds before falling with a soft thud on the visitor's side of the Headmaster's desk.

Meanwhile, Harry continued to stare at the crimson bird and said, "Erm, is this your owl, sir?"

"That would be Fawkes the phoenix," said Professor Dumbledore. "Phoenixes are fascinating creatures, Harry. They are capable of carrying immensely heavy loads, their tears have powerful healing properties, and they make for highly _faithful_ pets. But I take it Fawkes is not the reason you are here tonight, correct?"

The fact that the Headmaster himself had called Harry by his first name was as strange as the collection of silver instruments in the room. But Harry took it as a sign of good faith and chose to take his seat, though he didn't know where to begin. How exactly was a simple eleven-year-old supposed to speak with the greatest wizard of them all?

Professor Dumbledore placed the tips of his long fingers together on the desk and said, "Can I assume that you have at least one pressing issue that needs to be brought to my attention tonight?"

"Quirrell – I mean, 'Professor Quirrell' ..."

Professor Dumbledore's eyes narrowed for a split second behind those half-moon glasses. "Yes? What about him?"

"I don't mean to be rude, sir." Harry shifted in his seat, bracing for a stern defence from the Headmaster. "But his lessons stink."

To Harry's surprise, Professor Dumbledore neither frowned nor let loose an admonishment for showing 'disrespect' towards a staff member. On the contrary, Professor Dumbledore smiled as he said, "Indeed. But, if I may ask, is there anything else you'd like to tell me about Professor Quirrell?"

It felt as if the Headmaster somehow knew that Harry's complaints extended beyond Quirrell's curriculum. "I don't know if it's from the stench or what, Professor, but my scar sometimes pains in his class." Harry noticed that Professor Dumbledore was staring at him in an almost X-raying manner. "I mean, it's mostly OK and all ... but there are some times when it gets really bad. Twice or thrice so far, maybe."

"Have you noticed any changes in, for example, your temperament? Any correlation between them and something that Professor Quirrell has perhaps said or done?"

Harry stared at Professor Dumbledore. Those questions sounded awfully specific, for a Headmaster. "Sir, shouldn't Madam Pomfrey be asking these questions instead?"

"Madam Pomfrey already has enough to deal with on a regular basis, Harry. I would prefer that we not burden her with a scar that is, in many ways, unique to you."

Although confused, Harry chose to carry on nonetheless. "I think the first time it pained a lot was when Quirrell called my name on the register. Then there was that time I gave a really good answer in class. Otherwise, it's fine."

"I see." Professor Dumbledore placed his arms on his desk as he spoke. "Well, there is nothing to suggest that Professor Quirrell himself has anything to do with your scar, although I will be having a word with him with regards to his curriculum. Anything else on your mind?"

"Snape –"

"Professor Snape."

"– is mean." Harry gripped the sides of his chair as he spoke. "He's supposed to be my Head of House, but I'm pretty sure he hates me."

"'Hate' is a strong word, Harry. Regardless, I've already spoken to Professor Snape with regards to his behaviour. Anything else?"

Was it truly worth going ahead with his 'big chance', as Draco had said? Harry felt comfortable enough in Professor Dumbledore's presence so far, so he reckoned he might as well go ahead and say his say – in a polite way, of course.

"Sir, the Dursleys are even worse than Professor Snape. They've hated me ever since I've been with them. Ever since, well, since you put me there, I think."

Judging by the impassive look on Professor Dumbledore's face, it would seem as if he had been expecting this topic to be brought up. "Can I assume that Mr Malfoy has offered to accommodate you during the holidays?"

Harry nodded.

"And have you considered accepting his offer?" Professor Dumbledore asked. "Would you be comfortable in staying at the Malfoys?"

Feeling no reason to hesitate, Harry said his say without mincing words. "No, because I know they're not good people. The same goes for the Crabbes, Goyles, and Notts. I know they helped You-Know-Who –"

"Do not hesitate to call him 'Voldemort', Harry. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself."

"OK, they were helping Voldemort." Harry sat up straight in his chair. "The Greengrasses and Parkinsons too, I think. I'm surprised they're still free."

There was a moment's silence until Professor Dumbledore said, "The Dursleys, despite their disappointing behaviour, remains the safest option for you during the holidays."

 _Huh?_ Harry was completely baffled by this. He was pretty sure that his 'relatives' would surrender him in a heartbeat if the Death Eaters came knocking. "Sorry, Professor, but I'm not going back to that horrible place. Can't I maybe stay at Hogwarts over the summer? It's brilliant here, sir." _Please say 'yes'._

"We are barely even two months into the school year. Perhaps it would be best if we postponed this discussion for a later date – unless, of course, you wish to arrange for something over the Christmas and Easter holidays as well?"

Truth be told, it was more the long summer-period that had Harry on his nerves than anything else. There was always the option of staying at Hogwarts for the shorter holidays.

"OK, fine," Harry said, standing up from his chair. "Maybe in December, then."

"That would be preferable, yes. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Harry."

* * *

"You're joking, right?" Draco said in the common room later that evening. "All that talk for no reason?" (As usual, Harry hadn't mentioned anything with regards to his scar.) "What exactly did you accomplish, then?"

"Are you deaf?" Susan said while sitting at the corner table, which she shared with the rest of the first-years. "He just said Professor Dumbledore's going to fix Quirrell's lessons, you know."

Theodore scoffed and said, "So what? That's nothing we couldn't sort out ourselves with a bit of extra studying. But Potter just wasted a golden opportunity to spend his holidays in proper company. Talk about getting steamrolled by the veteran idiot."

"I wasn't 'steamrolled'."

"Yes, you were," Draco told Harry. "Otherwise you'd be coming to my house over the holidays. But I guess this is what happens when people don't care about common courtesy."

Even Pansy was beginning to disagree with Draco at this point, as she said, "Not to be rude, Draco, but it's not courtesy if you're basically demanding Harry to come."

"Very few people even get to step foot into our manor. But I guess Harry over here just isn't interested in boosting his social status. He could've met all sorts of upstanding guests – and useful contacts – who Father would've invited."

 _Probably more Voldemort supporters_ , Harry thought. Then he pulled out his Transfiguration textbook and placed it on the table to read. "Are we finished arguing over my meeting?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Draco stood up from his high-backed chair. "Studying's dull. How about a game of Gobstones in the room?"

At that, Vincent and Gregory almost jumped up to get away from all the reading. Even Theodore and Blaise decided to join in – leaving Harry alone with the girls.

"I'm sure they'll grow up someday," Susan said. She took a deep breath and exhaled rather loudly through her nose. "The Malfoys just want to present you like a trophy, Harry." Then she looked left and saw Pansy, Daphne, and Tracey unfolding a large, blank banner on the table. "And now? Where'd you get that from?"

"This," said Daphne, clapping her hands together in excitement, "is for our first-ever Quidditch match! I went to Snape and asked him about making a banner. Then he told me to ask Professor Flitwick for spare materials. Ta-da! Look what the little Charms man found in his office!"

Tracey, while sucking on the end of her pink-feathered quill, beamed as she looked up and said, "I got it! Let's draw a long silver snake and put 'SLYTHERIN FOR THE WIN' underneath."

"Good one!" said Daphne, nodding. "Then we'll get an older student to change the leftover white to green, plus make the letters and snake flash all shiny and stuff. That'd look boss. You joining us, Harry?"

Pansy turned to look at Harry (whose nose was inches from his textbook) for a while before shaking her head. "He's way too sucked in by his books, like Granger."

"None of you saw how Professor Dumbledore made that chair appear out of nowhere ... just like that. I want to do that too someday."

Harry's refusal to join in on the painting made Daphne give a soft sigh that sounded like 'Awww'. Then she stood up and moved the group's banner as well as their stationery to the opposite corner of the room. "We'll be over here whenever you're ready to join. You can do the tail!"

"No, give him the head," Tracey said. "Or somewhere in-between."

"He'd better not colour over the lines," Pansy said.

* * *

Quidditch and textbooks weren't the only things on Harry's mind. He was more concerned about Defence Against the Dark Arts. So on the second-last Tuesday afternoon of the month, Harry took his seat and hoped that Quirrell would give a decent, practical lesson for a change.

"Good - d afternoon, class," Quirrell said at the front of the classroom. "I have been rev - vising my curriculum and d - decided to switch things up - p. So we'll be d - doing some spellwork today."

All ten Slytherins sat upright in their seats, eager to finally get out their wands and actually practise. Anything would be better than listening to yet another tale from Quirrell – however interesting it might be – or copying more notes from the blackboard.

"B - basics first," said Quirrell, pacing up and down with that usual, timid look of his. "We'll start with the D - Disarming Charm, _Expelliarmus_."

"Urgh, what?" Draco clenched his fist and said, "How's that supposed to help us fight 'the Dark Arts'?"

"You n - never know. Disarming could be very useful in a d - duel. Please copy d - down these notes before we st - tart."

Half an hour later, after having copied down Quirrell's notes and having listened to his brief lecture, the Slytherins were grouped into pairs in order to practise the Disarming Charm on each other.

"Now, let's see ..." said Quirrell. "I'll need a v - volunteer before we start. Mr P - Potter, how about you?"

There was a slight, dull discomfort in Harry's scar as he stepped forward. But Harry ignored it and braced himself as Quirrell took aim.

_"Expelliarmus!"_

A jet of red light issued from the end of Quirrell's wand, hitting Harry in the chest and causing Harry's wand to fly into the air. Quirrell, however, fumbled about and failed to catch the wand between his fingers, much to the amusement of Harry's peers (who forced themselves not to laugh out loud).

"So s - sorry about that. Reactions c - come and g - go."

"No problem, Professor." Harry bent down to pick up his wand. Then he raised it, performed the required wand-movement, and said, _"Expelliarmus!"_

Quirrell's wand flew about a foot into the air. Harry's classmates cheered.

"Five p - points to Slytherin for a g - good effort, Mr Potter," Quirrell said, and Harry felt a surge of pain shoot through his scar. "Now, let's see the rest - t of you perform the sp - pell on each other."

All in all, Defence Against the Dark Arts was finally shaping up to be a class worth attending. It stayed this way even throughout their next lesson, during the final week of October.

"Good to see Quirrell upping his game," Pansy said as the Slytherins left their second decent Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson in two weeks. "He'd better stay so next month."

But Professor Quirrell wasn't the only one who'd made an improvement. Harry noticed that some of the Slytherins had also put in an extra effort, such as Vincent and Gregory's improved potting techniques in Herbology (the Ravenclaws stared in disbelief), Draco's new status as being second-best in Madam Hooch's class, Pansy having forced herself to copy down as much extra information from Professor Binns as possible, and Daphne working as hard as she could during their final Charms class of the month.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've started on Monday," Professor Flitwick said on Wednesday, the thirtieth. He had divided the class into pairs – with Draco getting Vincent, Theodore getting Gregory, Blaise getting Tracey, Daphne teaming up with Pansy, and Harry once again sharing a desk with Susan. "And repeat after me: _Wingardium Leviosa_!"

 _"Wingardium Leviosa!"_ the Slytherins said, loud and clear.

"Excellent! Now remember to swish and flick. And bear in mind the correct pronunciation as well, lest you end up like Wizard Baruffio."

Fifteen minutes later saw Daphne and Harry being the only ones who levitated their feathers without too much difficulty (earning them a combined total of six points), while the rest of the class varied between near lift-off and a burning feather (in Gregory's case).

As for Susan, Harry told her that she kept on over-swishing her wrist movement and adding in a jab that did nothing. Susan gave a cheeky little smile as she said, "Sorry, Professor Potter," followed by clearing her throat in an exaggerated manner. "Ahem, _Wingardium Leviosa_!"

The feather quivered a bit before rising an inch, and Harry couldn't help but take over. He raised the feather until it was high enough to drop on top of Susan's head, which Harry did once Professor Flitwick had turned his back to them.

"Very funny," Susan said, shaking off the feather. "But the bird's nest is on _your_ head, not mine."

Charms continued with Theodore, Vincent, Gregory, and Tracey gradually eliciting more movement from their feathers. Then, when the bell rang, everyone packed up and left to carry on with their day, ending with Astronomy at midnight.

* * *

Harry woke to the smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the dungeons on Thursday morning. Sure, the grand feast wasn't scheduled until tonight, but that didn't stop the Slytherins from leaving their common room in no time. Breakfast was a lively affair that morning, as students of all houses discussed the upcoming Hallowe'en-decorations while eating.

Unfortunately, as many students soon found out, Peeves was just as excited as they were – leading to all sorts of pranks and 'accidents' taking place within the castle. Many a student could be seen walking around with their wand in hand (regardless of Mr Filch's warnings), ready to stop the next overturned vase, pulled carpet, or whatever else Peeves had in mind that morning.

For Harry and Susan, their post-breakfast stroll was interrupted by a loud yell of "TRICK OR TRICK, ICKLE FIRSTIES!", as Peeves came bursting through a door in the first-floor corridor. He was carrying a basket full of water balloons.

"What?" Harry scratched the back of his hair. "It's supposed to be 'trick or treat'. I heard it on TV."

"No, no, Potty Potter. Peevsie's going to give you one of his water balloons, see? Either you splash it on her," – Peeves pointed at Susan – "or I splash you both. Trick or trick."

"Er, keep your balloon, then," Harry said. "No way am I drenching my friend."

"TRICK IT IS!"

"Run for it!" Susan yelled, tucking her black pointed hat into her pocket (Harry did the same) as she turned tail and fled. One by one, blurs of different colours came soaring over Harry's and Susan's heads as they ran – splattering the walls, the floor, and the occasional suit of armour along the way.

To Harry's surprise, Susan just about outpaced him on the run, leaving Harry to bear the brunt of Peeves's assault. Try as he might, Harry failed to shake off the non-stop icy water and cackling laughter until reaching the marble staircase, where they came across none other than Professor Dumbledore.

"That is quite enough, Peeves."

"Much apologies, Professorhead," Peeves said in a rather oily, unconvincing tone. "Old Peevsie will be on his way, then."

And he left, after which Susan leaned against the banister to catch her breath, and giggle at Harry. "Professor! Harry's ... been ... soaked."

"It's not funny!"

Professor Dumbledore, however, simply dried Harry off with a wave of the wand. Then he reached into his pocket and withdrew a couple of brand-new Chocolate Frogs. "I daresay you'd appreciate these after all that running."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said.

He and Susan then made their way up to the third floor in the hopes of distancing themselves from Peeves. But no sooner had they arrived than a yell of "YOU'RE WRONG! AND YOU'RE STUPID!" could be heard coming from Hermione Granger around the corner to the left, much to Harry's and Susan's bewilderment.

"And now?" Susan asked, though her question was soon answered as a teary-eyed Hermione came stomping around the corner. She stopped upon seeing Harry, at which point she spun around and waited until the trio of Ronald Weasley, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas rounded the corner.

"See here!" Hermione yelled at Weasley, while pointing to her left, at a visibly confused Harry. " _He's_ my friend! So you're _wrong_!"

"Ouch!" said Harry, covering his ears. "What in the world –"

"Oooooh, drama," whispered Susan, sniggering. "Looks like they had an argument, or something."

After taking a deep breath in and out, Hermione followed up by telling Weasley: "I _do_ have friends!"

"Yeah, just one," Weasley said. "Anyway, I don't have time for head-cases like you. Go boss Harry Potter around and see how he likes it. Let's go, guys."

And they left down the staircase which Harry and Susan had just climbed, though that didn't stop Hermione from yelling "And how many friends do _you_ have outside of Gryffindor, huh? None! Nobody out there can stand _you_!" after them.

Harry blinked. "Hermione, what the –"

"Just forget it," Hermione said. "Just because _he's_ too stupid to work a simple Levitation Charm, unlike me, doesn't give him the right to get all rude. How was your morning, Harry?"

"All right, until Peeves showed up ..." And when Harry and Susan proceeded to tell of their water-balloon adventure, Hermione started giggling. "You know," said Harry, placing the Chocolate Frog in Hermione's hand, "I think you need this more than me."

"No, you keep it," she said. "And besides, I'm sure there'll be loads of sweets at tonight's dinner. Mum and Dad even sent me some extra mouthwash for the occasion."

"Just don't use it at the table," said a giggling Susan. Hermione gave her a 'Really now?' kind of look.

"I'm not stupid, you know – unlike Ronald Weasley."

The rest of their day passed without any drama. And when dinner finally arrived, Harry and his classmates (even Draco) were stunned by the lavish decorations adorning the Great Hall. A thousand live bats fluttered around the walls, there were carved, candlelit pumpkins all over the hall, and the ceiling had been enchanted to show a dark, unnaturally-purplish sky overhead. Some of the dishing bowls were even hovering at the tables.

Unfortunately, Harry had barely touched his feast when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the Great Hall, his turban askew and his eyes widened in terror. Quirrell ran straight past the crowd of staring students, right up to Professor Dumbledore's chair, and said, in a breathless voice: "Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know."

And he fainted.

There was an uproar of panic in the Great Hall, followed by Professor Dumbledore ordering the prefects to lead their houses back to their dormitories. The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were therefore taken upstairs, while the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs made haste to the dungeons.

"Oh, well done! Excellent!" Harry heard one of the older Slytherins tell her friends. "Great example right there, don't you think?"

"Yeah!" said Marcus Flint from somewhere in the crowd. "Remember, kids: when there's danger – faint."

"This school's had one useless teacher after another over the years," said some other Slytherin boy among the crowd. The topic then shifted towards a 'Patricia Rakepick' – who, despite having 'gone off the deep end', was still one of the better Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers in recent years.

"Shut it!" said one of the older prefects. She stopped the crowd as they reached an intersection in the dungeons. "Anyone smell that?"

"Hard not to," said one of the male prefects.

Indeed, there was a foul, sewerage-like odour permeating the corridor. And just as everyone pinched their noses and complained, they stopped at the sight of a twelve-foot tall beast rounding the distant corner, further up the corridor. The beast was shaped like a boulder supported by two short tree-trunks, and was dragging a huge wooden club along the ground.

"Aaaa! It's the troll –"

"Shut it, Crabbe," said one of the older male-students. "You're acting like one now."

The troll had finally directed its attention towards the Slytherins. It paused for a moment, then gave a loud roar that reverberated down the corridor, causing many of the younger students to shriek and double back into one another.

"Settle down, children," said Prefect Saxon, drawing her wand. "Fourth-years and above, restrain that filth before it runs off to the kitchens."

"Why?" Harry heard Draco ask, and Prefect Saxon sighed.

"One, to keep the elves safe; and two, so the Duffers don't get their chance to earn points. Plus, we still need to make up for _your_ senseless loss, Malfoy."

The troll sped up into a surprisingly quick run. Many of the Slytherins raised their wands and shouted _"Incarcerous!"_

Dozens of ropes flew out of midair like thick snakes. The first few were snapped by the momentum of the troll, and the next batch wrapped themselves to the point where the troll's dull, granite skin bulged in places. Then, finally, after about a dozen more yards of running the troll toppled over and landed face-down on the stone floor; its club rolling ahead until being stopped by a Freezing Charm.

"And ... that's that," said the male seventh-year prefect, Reginald Vance. "Everett and Camilla, carry on with the crowd. Ginny and the rest of us will keep watch over this sack of stench."

Prefects Burke and Saxon proceeded to lead the rest of the house back to the common room, while the sixth and seventh-year prefects kept the troll under constant restraint in the corridor. And no sooner had the Slytherins entered their common room (and scrambled for the tables) than Daphne re-enacted the troll incident before her classmates. She put on quite the show at the couches.

"Wow! Did you see that? The troll was like: 'Raaaawr!', then it ran with its club like: 'Raaaawr!', and then it got roped until it fell like: 'Aaaawrgh!'" Daphne proceeded to do an exaggerated jog until 'tripping' over her legs and landing face-down on the couch; her blonde hair fanning out around her.

"Yeah," said Blaise, chuckling with the rest of the first-years, and a few other onlookers. "It was kind of hilarious."

"You taking this up with your father?" Theodore asked Draco, who shrugged. "Someone needs to answer for why there's a troll where we live."

"That's the Headmaster's duty," said Draco. "So let's hope Harry's role-model actually does his job this time."

Harry, meanwhile, was trying to get Daphne up from the couch. But the more he started shaking her, the more she started giggling – much to Harry's bemusement.

"Just leave her there," said Pansy, who'd grown up with Daphne's occasional theatrics. "Not our fault if she misses dinner from acting childish."

There was a loud scraping of chairs and plates as the Slytherins helped themselves to the food that had been set up from the feast. Sure, it wasn't quite the same as dining in the huge, extravagant Great Hall – but it was still a lively occasion nonetheless; far better than anything Harry had experienced at number four, Privet Drive, at least.


	7. Quidditch

As they entered November, the mountains around Hogwarts became icy grey, the lake froze like steel, and the grounds became covered in frost. And for some students, such as Harry and Tracey, there was the occasional condensation fogging up their glasses.

"This is so irritating," Tracey told Harry on Monday afternoon, while en route to Charms. "Dad used to do this spell that helps. But I can't remember it."

"I'll ask Professor Flitwick. Don't worry."

Tracey's spell ended up being the Impervius Charm, which Professor Flitwick was happy to instruct them on after class. However, as neither Harry nor Tracey managed to achieve a successful attempt by the end of their first lesson, Professor Flitwick extended his offer to biweekly tuition for the rest of the month. You could never learn enough at the best school in the world.

From spells to brooms, Harry's interests swung like a pendulum as the Quidditch season began. One minute he was studying and practising the Impervius Charm with Tracey, and the next minute he was taking a seat in the stands, watching Team Slytherin's practice. Marcus drilled the boys hard on tactics until the stadium began filling up with unwanted guests, at which point Team Slytherin switched to doing some generic form of practice. The less that was seen by their opponents, the better – as it stood with any sports team in the world.

"So tell me," Yasmin said to Harry in the stands, after having watched their team practise, "how does the match score get converted to house points?"

"The goal tally's divided by three and then rounded off. And fifty points to whoever catches the Snitch."

Yasmin smiled. "OK, so let's say Gryffindor scores ten goals while we score three but catch the Snitch. What'll that be?"

"Erm," – Harry rubbed his chin – "ten goals is a hundred – so that'll be thirty-three points for them. Three goals makes thirty, so that'll be ten plus fifty from the Snitch. Sixty for us."

"Close, isn't it?" Yasmin said. "So you can see how the whole team needs to do well in the end, even if the Seeker gets a big chunk of points."

They followed the rest of the Slytherins out onto the sloping lawn. Harry overheard Marcus telling one of the Beaters, Peregrine Derrick, not to worry about having 'big shoes to fill in'.

"I'm sure you'll do great, man," Marcus told the nervous Derrick. "Even Erika struggled a bit at first, from what I've heard."

"Who's Erika?" Harry asked Yasmin.

"Big blonde Erika Rath. She left at the end of last year and was probably Slytherin's best Beater in, well, decades." Yasmin chuckled. "Funnily enough, your Daphne pal looks a lot like her but smaller. She's got the same hair, the same eyes, and, well, a very similar face in general. It's quite cute, actually."

"Er, OK," said Harry. He didn't know how to respond to that.

* * *

On the second Saturday of November, Teams Gryffindor and Slytherin set out for their first game of the season. Both sides were said to be fielding a decent line-up, though the Gryffindors had struggled to fill the gap left behind by Charles Weasley. The stadium was packed with hundreds of students, some staff, and even a portion of visitors who'd come to watch the match. Banners of red and gold flashed here and there across the Gryffindor stands, while the Slytherin crowd displayed their own assortment of flags and banners, one of which was made by Harry and the girls.

"Hello, and welcome to the first Quidditch match of the season!" said the commentator sitting alongside Professor McGonagall in their podium. "I'm Lee Jordan, and today it's time to see whether the Lions or the Snakes has what it takes to seize the opening win ..."

Harry, who'd joined some of his classmates in the top row, brought his binoculars to his eyes and surveyed the staff's section of the stands. "Hey, where's Big Boss?"

"Who?" Pansy asked.

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry said. "How come he's not watching?"

Susan giggled and said, "Maybe he's just too busy with more important stuff? And you'd better not call him that, Harry."

"But that's what he is," Harry said. "The Big Boss of Hogwarts."

"... and here comes Team Gryffindor!" Jordan said over the magical megaphone in his hand. "Captain and Keeper Oliver Wood leads the way, followed by Chasers Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, and the ever-so-attractive Angelina Johnson –" Jordan was politely warned by Professor McGonagall. "Right, er, here comes Beaters Fred and George Weasley, followed by Gryffindor's new Seeker, Kenneth Towler. Get 'em, Ken!"

"Five classmates on the same team?" Draco said to Daphne beside him. "And one on the megaphone? Ridiculous."

"There's a word for that," Daphne said. "Nepo ... something. Nepo-Potter?"

"Very funny," said Harry.

"And there's the Slytherins," said Jordan. The crowd booed and cheered as seven boys stepped on to the field. "Captain and Chaser Marcus Flint leads the way, followed by Chasers Adrian Pucey and Cassius Warrington. There's Seeker Terence Higgs, Keeper Miles Bletchley, and Beaters Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole. Looks like Derrick's filling in for Erika Rath – Slytherin's long-time Beater who left last year. Let's see if he can fill those _big_ boots."

The teams positioned themselves in the centre of the pitch, where Madam Hooch oversaw the captains' handshake and then threw up the Quaffle. Fifteen brooms rose into the air as the game got underway.

"And they're off! Quaffle's set free and taken by Johnson. Johnson passes to Alicia Spinnet – an excellent find of Oliver Wood's. Spinnet rounds the clueless Flint and speeds down the left flank – which is Slytherin's right. Pucey and Warrington coming in hot from either side. But Spinnet drops the Quaffle to Katie –"

WHAM.

"Oh!" Jordan and the Gryffindor crowd groaned. "Bludger from Derrick knocks Bell off course. Quaffle's free and taken by Flint down the right. Bludger sent by Weasley. Deflected by Bole. Other Weasley chasing down the second Bludger. And now the Slytherin Chasers are heading down their right flank!"

Quidditch was unlike anything Harry had ever seen. His mouth hung open as he moved his binoculars from one player to another, trying to follow the movements of the Quaffle. Like a reddish blur it zipped from Chaser to Chaser in the air; from Flint to Pucey, then stolen by Johnson. Then came a Bludger from Bole, which was blocked by one of the Weasley twins.

"Johnson's moving in to battle Bletchley at the hoops!" said Jordan. "Remember, kids: only one attacking-Chaser can enter the scoring zone at a time. No Stooging! Johnson goes left, shoots ... SCORES past Bletchley to make it ten-zero in favour of Gryffindor!"

Gryffindor cheers filled the stadium like a tidal wave of noise. The Slytherins groaned.

"Slytherin in possession as Keeper Bletchley retrieves the Quaffle after Johnson's goal. Bletchley passes to Flint. Flint rolls away from a Bludger and passes to Warrington. It's Comet Two Sixty against Cleansweep Five as Warrington outstrips Spinnet down the middle. Warrington passes to Pucey. Pucey ducks Bell and Johnson as he switches to the left flank. Pucey getting dangerously close to Wood! Both Weasleys heading for that Bludger, but it's too late as Pucey shoots ... SAVED BY OLIVER WOOD!"

From time to time, Harry lost sight of the action and ended up having to either scan all over the place or rely on Lee Jordan's commentary. Jordan was quite good at his role, despite his bias, and his commentary kept you right in the game.

"ANGELINA SCORES THROUGH THE RIGHT HOOP! It's twenty-zero to the Lions so far! Excellent!" Jordan said. "Slytherin in possession again. Bletchley to Pucey. Pucey to Warrington. Bludger coming in from Weasley but deflected by Bole towards – WHAM! – Spinnet in the centre! Spinnet's unable to stop Flint from soaring down the middle. Flint heading in for goal ... shoots ... SAVED BY WOO –"

WHACK. Oliver Wood had taken one hell of a Bludger from Bole to the gut (the Gryffindors yelled in protest) and was now hanging on for dear life from his broom.

"Argh, damn it!" said Jordan, slamming his first on his desk. "That's perfectly legal if the Quaffle's within the scoring area, which it is. Flint seizes the Quaffle, shoots ... and obviously scores with no-one to guard the hoops. Twenty-ten still in favour of Gryffindor."

The match carried on with both teams launching their attacks, defending, and counterattacking when necessary. The Beaters were particularly vicious in the air, with both pairs working in sync against each other.

"And that's another Bludger from Derrick and Bole blocked by Fred and George!" said Jordan. "One of them's chasing down the second Bludger as Bell goes for goal ..."

And then it happened. One of the Weasley twins smashed a Bludger which went off-target and was now streaking towards the Slytherins. The speck of iron grew bigger by the millisecond, and Harry barely had time to think as he (and those nearby) ducked out of their seats.

"WHOA!" said Jordan. "Fred, George – whoever – did you lift, mate? That was one sick Bludger right there! Look! It's zipped right over those Slytherins' heads and left the stadium!"

A time-out was called as Madam Hooch put herself between the furious teams yelling at each other in the air. On the one side were Marcus and his boys hurling what were likely insults, and on the other side were the defensive Gryffindors doing pretty much the same. Meanwhile, as the Gryffindor crowd kept on cheering, the Slytherins were fuming at the close call over their seats.

"Harry!" Daphne said, as she and the others returned to their seats slightly shaken. "Are you OK? I can't believe a Weasley would do something like that!"

"I can," said Draco down below.

"I'm pretty sure that shot was meant for Bole," said Susan.

"Then he should've aimed properly, the squint dog!" Pansy said, to which many Slytherins agreed. "I've never seen a Bludger whacked so hard and off-target before!"

Harry, however, focused his binoculars on the Weasley twin who started speaking (or rather, almost pleading) with Madam Hooch. Weasley made all sorts of swinging gestures before Madam Hooch blew into her silver whistle, right when the Bludger finally returned and carried on zooming around the pitch as usual.

"Looks like it's a penalty for Slytherin, then," said Jordan, and the Gryffindor crowd booed. "Flint flies forward to take it. Wood's ready at the posts. Flint goes right – Wood goes left to block him. Flint rolls left – Wood goes right. Flint takes a desperate shot to the middle!" Jordan groaned. "And it's through the hoops, making it twenty-twenty!"

WHACK. And the Slytherins laughed as Gryffindor's Seeker took a Bludger to the side while cruising past the sea of green and silver.

"OH NO!" Jordan yelled. "Towler's down after taking a nasty Dopplebeater Defence! That was a cheap shot, you dirty –"

"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall could be heard yelling in the background.

"And the Quaffle's passed from Spinnet to Bell as our girls make their way down the middle. Angelina Johnson's bringing up the rear" – Jordan gave a slight snort that sounded like a laugh – "and takes the backpass from Bell. Johnson rounds the oncoming Pucey and keeps the Quaffle out of Warrington's reach. Johnson throws it up to Spinnet above ..."

Team Gryffindor continued to launch one attack after another at Team Slytherin, who conceded two goals before finally making their way up the pitch. Then came a couple more goals from either side, followed by Kenneth Towler spotting the Golden Snitch.

"And here we go, people!" Jordan said. "We're still on sixty-forty in favour of Gryffindor as the battle for the Snitch gets underway!"

This was it. Harry kept his binoculars fixed upon the two Seekers jostling each other in the air. They shot down the right side of the pitch and followed the Snitch on its climb. Meanwhile, Jordan's commentary kept the crowd up to date on matters elsewhere:

"... looks like Flint's passed to Pucey. Pucey going forward. He shoots ... SAVED by Wood and collected by Spinnet on the rebound! Spinnet heading down the right. Spinnet lobs it out of Warrington's reach to Bell! Bell to Johnson down the middle ..."

Johnson's run (or rather, flight) ended in a Gryffindor goal by Spinnet, which was followed by a Slytherin attack stopped by two Bludger-shots midway down the pitch. From there, the Gryffindors launched their counterattack as Alicia Spinnet sped down the left wing.

"Spinnet's passed Flint on the left! She's cutting in towards the left hoop, shoots ... SAVED by Bletchley! Slytherin in possession as – OH NO! TOWLER'S WHACKED! HIGGS'S GAINING ON THE SNITCH! WEASLEY BLUDGER COMING IN! BLOCKED BY BOLE ... IT'S CAUGHT! HIGGS'S CAUGHT IT! Nooooooooo!"

Though their numbers were nowhere near the thousands, the Slytherin crowd let loose a roar of celebration not unlike those at a Muggle sports match. Over a hundred students jumped up and down while yelling "YEEEEAAAAAH!" and doing all sorts of celebrations. Everything was a blur of green and silver wherever you looked.

"We won!" Susan yelled beside Harry. "We won! We won! We won! We won! WE WOOOON!"

"WOOHOOOOO!" Pansy shouted, hugging Tracey as they both danced up and down on their seats.

"Take that, Gryffindor scum!" Draco yelled. He kept on hurling insults as if the rows of red could somehow hear him. "Dumb losers! Pathetic! Poor! We're the best!"

"Better than all the rest!" Theodore said while hopping and cheering alongside Vincent, Gregory, and Blaise.

And then there was Daphne, who leaped onto her seat and started hopping and cheering with Harry. It was the best kind of madness that Harry could have hoped for that morning, though the same could not be said of Lee Jordan in his podium.

"Yes, yes, congratulations, Team Slytherin. Today's match ends on a hundred and ninety to seventy. We'll get 'em next time."

Elsewhere, the seven boys in green were flying around the pitch in a lap of honour, though it seemed more like a lap of dishonour as they mainly did it to mock the Gryffindors. Marcus led the way in cheering and then guffawing as the team passed by the booing red-crowd. And not even Harry could resist chortling at the antics while watching through his binoculars.

"Is that really necessary?" Harry asked.

"Yep," Pansy said beside him. "Because they're losers."

Harry did the maths regarding the House Championship as they left the stadium. Team Slytherin had been on forty points before the Snitch was caught, making it thirteen points earned from the Quaffle action. And when combined with Higgs's successful capture of the Snitch, it meant that Slytherin had earned a total of sixty-three house points from the match, while Gryffindor scored twenty-three.

"P - p - p - partaaaayyyyyy!" Pansy almost shouted on the way up the slopes. Tracey frowned at her.

"Why are you stuttering like that? Are you trying to be Quirrell?"

"No," said Pansy, ignoring the giggling around her. "I just wanted to say it so, OK? Let's have a party. There'd better be desserts with golden syrup there."

"I still prefer honey," said Tracey.

* * *

It took a while for some of the older students to set things up, considering that the Quidditch game was succeeded by lunch. So at around two o'clock that day, Harry and the rest of the Slytherins returned to find their common room filled with jam rolls, sweet rolls, chocolate éclairs, chicken platters, and all sorts of other delights.

"Wow!" said Pansy. "So much food in the hood!"

"This apple juice is _mine_ ," Marcus said, swiping away the glass jug that Pansy had just picked up from the nearest table. Pansy, on the other hand, stomped her foot and went red in the face.

"I was here first! I'm gonna tell Auntie Maggie" (Marcus's mother, Magdalene) "that you were mean to me! You couldn't even score that many goals! And you were outplayed by a bunch of _girls_!"

Marcus guffawed, even more so as Daphne balled her fists and put herself between Marcus and Pansy.

"You're acting like a proper wool, you know that?"

"A what?" Marcus lowered one of his brows in confusion. "Quit acting like babies, man."

"Yeah, don't be so rude," Susan told Pansy at the table. "No need to insult his Quidditch performance."

Marcus's fellow Chaser Cassius Warrington (whom Harry had met back on the train) came striding over from one of the corner tables. He was surprisingly quick in his step and arrived in no time. "She's got a point about those Chasers, though."

"Yeah, well," – Marcus shrugged – "at least we still won."

"He always does something like that at functions," Pansy told Harry at their table. "One time, he deliberately took a peanut cluster right when I was going for it. It's not funny."

Just then, Harry saw the female seventh-year prefect – Virginia Abberton – arrive on-scene. She was fair-skinned and had long, dark-brown hair.

"Flint, apologise to Parkinson for acting like a child."

Marcus snorted and said, "Fine, OK. I'm sorry."

Just when Pansy was about to respond, she was reprimanded by Prefect Abberton.

"And you, crybaby, had better apologise for throwing tantrums and yelling unnecessary insults."

"Sorry," Pansy muttered, biting her lip and fidgeting with her fingers. "Won't happen again."

On that note, Prefect Abberton whipped out her wand and cast some sort of spell that duplicated the jug of apple juice (many students nodded and whispered to one another at this feat). "One for you, and one for him. Now quit acting like muppets."

"Well said, Ginny," said Prefect Reginald Vance, Abberton's counterpart. "Back to the partying, people. We sure showed those Lions, didn't we?"

Daphne, meanwhile, went up to Prefect Abberton and asked very politely (and with an empty bowl in hand) if the latter could make her a bowl of meat stew. Prefect Abberton smiled, and shook her head.

"Unfortunately, food happens to be the first of the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration." (Daphne, and many students around her, simply stared in confusion) "You can summon it, increase it, transform it, and whatever else have you. But you cannot _create_ it ... got it?"

Daphne nodded, her mouth still hanging open a centimetre or two. Meanwhile, as a silent, fuming Pansy refused to eat anything, Harry saw Tracey approach Pansy with a plate of treats in hand.

"Here, don't be cross," Tracey said, holding out the plate. "I put lots of golden syrup on these for you."

"Huh? Oh, er, thanks," said Pansy. "I'll go find you some honey stuff, then."

The party carried on throughout the afternoon, after which the Slytherins went up to the Great Hall for dinner. It was a great day on the whole, though nobody seemed to be bothered by that unusual Bludger-shot earlier. Few, if any, students seemed to be discussing it at this point.

"I don't get it," Harry told Pansy in the common room after dinner. "How come nobody's bothered by that one shot that went so far?"

"Dumb strength, maybe. I don't know." Pansy shrugged as she took a seat on one of the corner couches, far away from the crowded fireplace. "OK, so maybe it was a little odd, considering how far Weasley was from us –"

"And it went totally skew," said Harry.

"Yeah, that too. But it's not really something super-duper suspicious. Even the best Beaters mis-hit their Bludgers from time to time. And, like I said, maybe that Weasley just got the strength of a troll for that moment. I hear they live like trolls anyway."

Although not entirely convinced, Harry shrugged it off and carried on with his day. He spent much of his evening ploughing through his Transfiguration homework after having seen that amazing spell which Prefect Abberton had used.

The rest of November carried on with Harry getting through his coursework while also making time for his extra-curricular activities. At some point, both Harry and Tracey managed to get a decent Impervius Charm going, thus earning themselves (and their house) five points each. Harry also snuck in a supervised flying-session whenever he could in the stadium, which he hoped would earn him some plus points should he ever decide to try out for the team someday.

Speaking of Quidditch, on the first Saturday of December Ravenclaw smashed Hufflepuff three hundred and twenty to fifty, putting themselves well ahead in the House Championship. The reigning Quidditch champions looked set to continue their win-streak since the start of last season, with the closest match having been their narrow win against Slytherin back in January.

Meanwhile, Harry had other things on his mind. He knew that he could neither return to the Dursleys nor visit the Malfoys for Christmas. Even worse, Harry had a good guess that choosing to visit anyone else while rejecting Draco's offer would surely cause unnecessary drama. So in the end, Harry chose the neutral option by putting down his name when Professor McGonagall came round making a list of students who would be staying for the holidays.

"I still say you should've taken Draco's offer," Pansy told Harry (in a whisper) during their second-last flying lesson of the term. It was freezing to the point where nobody wished to stand still outside, thus affording Harry and Pansy a bit of private conversation on the snowy ground. "Can't you give him one chance?"

Harry kept his eyes on Madam Hooch, who was busy instructing Parvati and Hermione on how to stand on their brooms, while speaking. "Well, I mean, maybe –"

Just then, Hermione slipped off her broom and landed face-first in the thick snow. She was unharmed and had a good giggle with Parvati, until they saw Draco, Vincent, and Gregory mocking Hermione from behind Madam Hooch's back.

"There's your answer," Harry told Pansy, who frowned.

"Yeah, but they are actually nice people. You know Mrs Malfoy sent sweets and cakes for my birthday a few times, right? I think you're overbearing when it comes to Granger."

"Whatever." Harry's cheek twitched in annoyance. "Remember what Tracey said? The Malfoys are only nice to you because you're a pure-blood. That's the kind of people they are."

"But Draco's nice to you, isn't he?"

"Doesn't seem genuine," said Harry.

Pansy's insistence on defending Draco was starting to get on Harry's nerves, though Harry said nothing in return. He simply shrugged and carried on with their broom-surfing lesson – which he found to be easy as pie. In fact, Draco chose this exact moment to comment on how Harry could have spent his holidays 'improving himself' at Malfoy Manor.

"Father would've organised us proper flying-instructors," Draco said in a low voice, after Harry had earned them five points for his efforts. "Much better than this old hag, that's for sure."

Pansy nodded as she said, "Yeah! All of us are spending Christmas at the Malfoys, Harry. Come on!"

"'Most' of us, you mean," said Susan.

"As if I even wanted you at my house," said Draco, which was exactly what Harry had expected. There was no way that Harry would be spending his holidays over at the 'magical Dursleys', that's for sure.


	8. The Cloth

On the second-last day of term, Harry watched as Professors Flitwick and McGonagall decorated the Great Hall for Christmas. The place looked spectacular, with festoons of holly and mistletoe hanging all around the walls; and twelve, towering Christmas trees standing around the room. Some of the trees sparkled with icicles while others glittered with candles, though Draco wasn't impressed.

"Is this it?" he asked, coming to a halt between Harry and Daphne at the Great Hall's doors. "How ridiculous. If Mother and Father were in the mood, they'd decorate our manor far better than this. But you'll have to visit if you'd like to see it."

"Harry's already made up his mind about staying, OK?" said Daphne. "Maybe he wants to study or something? I don't know."

"Who the hell studies over the holidays?" Draco asked, frowning in a confused manner. "You're supposed to sleep late, get spoiled, eat whatever you want – whenever you want, spend money, and just ... have fun, you know?"

Daphne then turned to Harry and said, "Are you sure you want to stay? You'll end up in the ozzy from too much studying."

Harry had to admit that he was having a hard time letting Daphne, of all people, down. But in the end, he stayed true to his decision – though it didn't prevent him from having a bit of fun before the holidays.

"Let's play a game," Harry said, after having left the Great Hall. "I'll give you a clue: it starts with a 'C'."

Draco paused for a moment, and then he groaned. "Please tell me it's not chess."

"It's not chess."

"Ohh! Ohh! I got it!" Daphne was bouncing on her feet. Then she raised her hand and said, "Chocolate Frog cards! Or anything to do with cards, right?"

Harry shook his head, still smiling.

"This is stupid," said Draco. "Just tell us already."

"Crackers?" Daphne asked. "That's it, right? We're gonna open loads of crackers." And when Harry shook his head again, Daphne followed up by saying, "Er, Charades? Chinese whispers? Christmas carols?"

"Cops and Robbers!" said Harry. Daphne and Draco simply stared at him, though Daphne started giggling. "It's Muggle game –"

" _OK_ , I've heard enough," said Draco. "See you later. Bye."

And he left for the dungeons, leaving Harry to try and explain the rules of the game to Daphne. Fortunately, she was far more open-minded than Draco was, and beamed in excitement.

"Let's round up the others!" she said. "Can I be a cop?"

"Sure, but I'm faster than you."

"Yeah," said Daphne, "but Susan's faster than you. And she'll be my partner in stopping crime."

So they left to find the rest of the Slytherin first-years, who were all lounging around the packed common room before lunch. Susan and Tracey joined in without hesitation, though Theodore and Blaise – much like Draco – refused to be seen playing a Muggle game. Then there were Vincent, Gregory, and Pansy, who expressed interest but eventually fell in line with Draco's adamant refusal to 'embarrass' himself.

"Oh, come on," Daphne said to Pansy at the couch. "We played Muggle games before, remember?"

"Yeah, but that was at home."

Try as they might, the group of Harry, Daphne, Susan, and Tracey failed to convince their peers to join in, so they gave up and exited the common room. They needed more participants, so Harry chose to head to the library for further recruitment. He went right up to Hermione, who was engrossed in a spellbook at a corner desk, and asked if she'd like to join in.

"I'm sorry, what?" Hermione peered at Harry over the top of her textbook. "Is this a joke?"

"Of course not."

"Come on," said Daphne, while Susan and Tracey kept watch for Madam Pince. "Don't be boring, Hermione. You can read after lunch again."

"But I don't usually play outside," Hermione said. "And besides, I'm basically a year older than you."

"And so's Tracey," Daphne said. "Her birthday's the eleventh of October. Susan's the baby, 'cause she's sixteenth of Feb."

Just then, Susan warned them of Madam Pince's imminent arrival down one of the aisles. "I think she's coming to check who's talking! Hurry up!"

With nothing to lose (except getting booted from the library), Harry and Daphne put enough pressure on Hermione until she finally caved and decided to join in, making it five. She then started criticising almost everything about their game as the group made their way down the corridor.

"I think it's a bad influence on children," Hermione said. "I mean, if you really think about it: surely there's got to be a more appropriate name than 'Cops and Robbers'? It encourages thievery and all sorts of mischief."

"Mm-hmm," said Daphne.

"It also teaches children that the game's easier if there are more robbers than cops," Hermione said, "which means they'll grow up thinking it's easier to steal if the police are outnumbered ..."

Harry, meanwhile, found himself being tapped on the shoulder by Tracey. She bit her lower lip in frustration, and whispered, "Do we _really_ have to play with her? She can't stop talking!"

"Hey, she's my friend, OK? At least we got her out the library."

Hermione continued to jabber until the group reached the Entrance Hall, where they passed a dozen Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws before coming across the trio of Finnigan, Thomas, and Weasley at the front doors.

"Why are you walking around with them?" asked Weasley. Hermione barely even looked at him as she carried on walking.

"I don't have time for this. Move."

Much like Hermione, Harry wasn't in the mood for senseless squabbles either. He excused the group and stepped out into the cold but clear day outside, where the snow from yesterday's blizzard had settled almost everywhere.

"OK," said Harry, as the group started discussing what they'd be using as the 'loot' in their game. "We'll use books."

"Out here?" Hermione gasped. "But ... you can't put books in the snow. They'll get wet and soggy."

Tracey placed her hands on her hips and said, "We can get 'em dried in no time, duh."

"We'll do two cops and three robbers. And two rounds," Harry said. "Let's go!"

And so they chose to set up their game where Madam Hooch held her lessons. Nine circles known as the 'safe zones' were drawn like hula hoops in the snow, while one large circle – the 'home base' – was marked in the centre of the action. The 'robbers' were to run around trying to move the books from the safe zones to the home base, while the 'cops' gave chase. One touch meant an arrest, though the robbers couldn't be tagged if standing within any of the circles while holding their loot.

"And no cheating!" said Harry. "Only one robber can stand in a safe zone at a time. And cops count to fifteen when the game starts. OK, let's see ... me, Hermione, and Tracey will be robbers. You two" – he pointed at Daphne and Susan – "are the police."

_"Wew, wew!"_

"Shut up!" Susan told Daphne beside her. "That's your cousin's stupid thing."

"Enough chit-chat," said Tracey. "Let's goooo!"

The game began with Harry, Hermione, and Tracey dashing out from their home base, while Daphne and Susan started their count. The wind roared in Harry's ears as he put one foot in front of the other in the snow. And after fifteen seconds, Harry heard someone sprinting behind him in the distance. Her footsteps were crunching louder by the second, causing Harry to make haste for the nearest safe zone – where he picked up Tracey's Herbology textbook.

"Ha, safety!" Harry said, wheeling around just in time to see a swish of blonde headed his way. "I got the loot and I'm safe! Go chase someone else!"

"Uh, uh, uhhhh," Daphne said in a sing-song voice. "I'm staying right here until you come out."

"Yeah, great plan." Harry snorted. "Too bad your partner's all by herself."

Metres ahead in the distance, the figures of Hermione and Tracey were running at full speed away from Susan. It was a close call, with Tracey barely managing to leap into the home base as Susan dived to grab her ankle.

"Too slow!" Tracey shouted, tossing aside the textbook. "And don't go grabbing our ankles!"

Hermione was next to arrive, making it two out of nine books collected so far. Seven more, and the robbers would take the win.

"How about I poke you till you come out?" Daphne said, reaching out and poking Harry in his chest, and then in his side.

"Hey – stop it! You're cheating!"

"No, I'm not," said Daphne. "Pokey poke."

"Cops can't stand too close to the circles. Go there so I can run!"

"Daphne!" Susan came stomping over, shaking off bits of snow in the process. "What kind of a policeman are you, huh?"

"A silly one," said Harry.

"Oh really?" Daphne took a deep breath, narrowed her eyes, and said, "Now it's on."

And the game continued as Harry ran to drop off his loot, with Daphne hot on his tail. Susan, meanwhile, turned left and intercepted Hermione just as the latter was about to reach the nearest hoop. She tapped Hermione on the shoulder, 'arresting' her, and then went after Tracey up ahead.

"Don't even think about freeing her," Daphne told Harry, while waiting for him to leave the safety of the home base. "'Cause I'll get you good –"

"Daphne!" Susan yelled. "A little help here!"

"You'll never catch me!" Tracey yelled.

Torn between waiting for Harry or intercepting Tracey, Daphne chose the latter and dashed to her left. This gave Harry the opportunity of running out and tapping Hermione on the shoulder, allowing her to carry on with the game.

"Woohoo! Time to steal again!" Hermione said, though she groaned as Tracey was caught just metres from the home base. "Come on, let's move!"

And so they ran again, this time looking to confuse Daphne and Susan by staying together and then heading in different directions. It sort of worked, as Harry gave Daphne the slip on his turn, though Susan was far too agile for Hermione to dodge.

"Ha! Caught you again!" Susan said, after having tapped Hermione on the shoulder. "Two on one, Harry. You lose!"

It was over. Harry had nowhere to go. He tried to run only to find Daphne catching up and blocking his path.

"What you gonna do now, huh?" she said, stepping to the left when Harry tried to go right, and stepping to the right when Harry tried to go left. Then came Susan from the back, tapping Harry on the shoulder and ending the game in favour of the 'cops'.

"We win!" she said, jumping up and down and dancing in celebration with Daphne. "OK, OK! So we swap now, right?"

"Not exactly," said Harry. "I'll stay a robber. Then you can all swap."

"But –"

Susan was interrupted by Hermione, who said, "No, I'll stay. Then you and Tracey can chase the rest of us."

The game was restarted but with Harry and Tracey doing the counting and chasing. Harry went straight after Daphne first, and got his revenge by blocking her on her way back to the home base.

"Ha! What you gonna – aaargh!"

A shower of icy white splashed against Harry's robes – and his face – as Daphne kicked her foot in the snow. Then, as Harry was busy wiping himself off, Daphne sprinted around Harry and leaped into the home-base circle, giggling.

"That's cheating!" Harry said, to which Daphne smiled and shook her head.

"Nope. Robbers don't follow rules, duh."

"Oh really? Well, you're disqualified, then, duh."

Daphne didn't mind. In fact, she had a ball of a time watching Tracey chase after Susan, and Harry joining in to pursue Hermione. Both robbers gave their chasers a hard time, and they accumulated two books each before finally being caught.

"Damn it!" said Susan, stomping her foot in the snow. "If only we had more robbers! Two on three's too close!"

"It was quite fun, though," said Hermione. "But if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to the library."

"Oh no you don't," said Tracey, pulling Hermione by the sleeve as she tried to leave. " _I've_ got another game we can play."

"Really?" Harry asked.

"Yep!" Tracey clapped her hands together, and smiled. "Let's play Ring-a Ring-a Rosie!"

"I know that game!" said Susan. "We hold hands in a circle and go round and round, right?"

Daphne giggled, and so did Hermione.

"That sounds a bit silly," said Hermione. "Actually, I think I've seen this game before, at my primary school. It's a nursery rhyme, right?"

Tracey nodded, and taught them the lyrics before getting started. The group of five then held hands and started hopping in their circle while singing:

_"Ring-a ring-a rosie,_

_A pocket full o' posies,_

_A-tichoo! A-tichoo!_

_We all fall down!"_

And on that last word, they all fell backwards – landing on their backs and laughing.

"That was fun!" said Daphne. "Let's do it again and again!"

Harry found the whole thing to be hilarious. He hopped and sung along over and over until, finally, Hermione decided it was time to leave.

"That was nice," Hermione said. "But, really, I need to get back to my studies now."

And she took her bag and left, leaving Harry to spend the rest of his morning with Daphne and her group. They discussed all sorts of holiday-related topics and played one more Muggle-game (some kind of hand-clapping one while facing each other) before settling down for lunch, after which they returned to the common room in the afternoon.

"And now?" Harry heard Tracey whisper behind him, as they shut the door and stepped into the long, low underground room. "Why's everyone whispering?"

"Maybe they cancelled the holidays," said Daphne.

"Don't be stupid," said Susan. "My auntie would never allow that."

Unfortunately, it was the group's Muggle games which had caused some of their housemates to gossip. Sure, everyone already knew that Harry Potter was friends with Hermione Granger, but they seemed to have taken even greater offence at Harry and the girls actually playing a Muggle game (or three) right out in the open.

"All right, that's enough," said seventh-year Prefect Vance over the growing murmurs and whispers. He and the rest of the prefects were sitting at a corner table, watching the crowd like hawks. "The next person to talk trash is getting detention next term. No need to act like drama queens over a few little games."

Seeing as the bad apples were getting even worse, Harry decided against playing another Muggle game at Hogwarts. Yes, it was fun and all, but perhaps it would be better to focus on more important matters at school.

"Come on," Harry told Daphne, Susan, and Tracey. "Let's roast marshmallows, or something."

"I still can't believe you're staying here all alone," Daphne said as they walked through the common room. "Come stay at my house. We can play Cops and Robbers, Ring-a Ring-a Rosie, and have all sorts of ice-cream there!"

"Thanks, but ... no thanks," said Harry. "I'm OK here."

Daphne groaned, though she lightened up as Harry joined Marcus, Pansy, and whoever else was busy roasting whatever they could at the fireplace. After that, Harry found himself a seat beside Yasmin on one of the corner couches.

"Don't worry about those rotten apples," Yasmin said while re-reading her graded Muggle Studies assignment (she got seventy-four per cent). "I mean, I'm a pure-blood who's on that damn purity-list," (the Sacred Twenty-Eight) "and I've got no problem with Muggle games and stuff. Not everyone is as stuck-up as the bad bunch here."

"Yeah, I know that," said Harry.

"Hmm," – Yasmin looked up from her roll of parchment – "I wonder if Umut would like some of those games? Bet he'll love Cops and Robbers, yeah."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek while looking, confused, at Yasmin. "Who's Umut?"

"My brother. He'll be starting here in a few years' time."

Harry wished he could say the same.

* * *

The next day marked the start of the Christmas holidays. And although Harry felt excited at being able to stay ahead of his competition, he felt rather empty without his friends. Gone was Tracey – who often sat reading at the table. Gone were Pansy and Daphne – the two excitable cousins. Gone was Susan – who occasionally tried fishing out Harry's home circumstances. Gone was Yasmin Shafiq – one of the friendliest older students in Slytherin. And gone was Hermione Granger. The first two days flew by as Harry spent much of his time reading up on Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Transfiguration; and before Harry knew it, he was climbing out of his bed on Christmas morning.

It was a good thing that Harry's dormitory was empty that morning, for the shock of actually getting a present (or ten, by the looks of it) would have been a dead giveaway that something wasn't quite right. Harry just stood there staring at the pile of colours lying at the foot of his bed; a far cry from his days at the Dursleys.

Once the shock had passed, Harry ripped open the top parcel and found a large tin of treacle fudge sent by Hagrid. The fudge was hard and shut one's jaw like glue, but it was delicious nonetheless (Harry made a note to warm up the rest at the fireplace). Then he moved on to a rectangular box containing a luxury, green and silver eagle-feather quill from Hermione, which Harry was definitely going to make good use of. Moving on, the next four presents were from Daphne, Pansy, Susan, and Tracey. They had sent Harry a box of homemade pies, a green and silver scarf, a toy Golden Snitch, and a book on second- to third-year level charms respectively.

Six down, four to go. Harry unwrapped his next package and found a variety of sweets gifted from the Malfoys, followed by opening a collection of removable highlighting-ink sent by Yasmin. The ink would surely be useful with all the studying that Harry was doing, or it could be a great prank to play on Madam Pince and her library books. Next, Harry opened a tiny parcel containing a note and a fifty-pence piece from the Dursleys, and sighed. OK, so perhaps it was better than the usual nothing he received from his so-called 'family' on Christmas, but on the other hand ... _fifty pence_? They might as well have not sent him anything at all.

"Rubbish," Harry said, closing the envelope and reminding himself to toss it in the fire. Ever since Harry had stepped foot into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he no longer considered number four, Privet Drive to be his home. Hence he wanted nothing to do with the Dursleys, their blatant unfairness, and their pathetic, insulting idea of a Christmas 'present'.

The last package turned out to be the single-most amazing thing Harry had ever seen. It was some kind of a shining, silvery cloth that was strange to the touch (like water woven into material) and which hid its wearer according to what was covered. All Harry had to do was cover himself completely with the cloth and, just like that, he was completely _invisible_. Even better, the attached note implied that the cloth had once belonged to Harry's father, and said that Harry ought to 'use it well'.

"Definitely," said Harry, although he wondered as to who had sent this gift. Had it really belonged to his father?

Regardless, Harry packed away his invisibility cloth and ate some of his Christmas presents for breakfast. There would be plenty of time to wander around unseen during the holidays, though Harry feared what would happen when the rest of the house eventually found out about his gift. Would they try to take it away from him? Would Draco and the rest become jealous and demand their own cloths? Would Snape, especially if he found out that the cloth had once belonged to Harry's father, try to confiscate it? And what would big boss Dumbledore have to say?

So many questions, so little answers. Harry ended up pondering for so long that it was already past twelve o'clock by the time he left his common room. He then made his way up to the Great Hall and saw that instead of there being five long tables as per usual, the staff had arranged for a single one in the centre of the Hall. It was set for about a dozen people, including Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell (he looked as terrified as ever, and was ready to leave); as well as Mr Filch, Madam Hooch, Hagrid, and the four Weasley brothers.

"Merry Christmas!" said Professor Dumbledore, as Harry approached the table and took the twelfth seat, to the right of Prefect Weasley (what was his name, now again?) and opposite Mr Filch. "Please, tuck in!"

Harry noticed that Mr Filch looked even more disgusted than usual, and couldn't help but wonder if it was due to the smell coming from Quirrell's turban beside Mr Filch. In addition, Harry also spotted Mrs Norris lying curled up on Mr Filch's lap – her lamp-like, yellow eyes fixed in the direction of Ronald Weasley, who was busy stuffing himself to the left of Prefect Weasley.

"I told Ronald not to bring him along," Prefect Weasley whispered to Harry, "but did he listen?"

"Bring who along?"

"Scabbers, our pet rat," whispered Prefect Weasley. "Looks like Mrs Norris is looking for a nice fat helping along with lunch. I swear, if that cat eats my rat, I'm giving Ronald a week's detention."

Just then, Professor Dumbledore took one of the large, silver crackers on the table and pulled it open. With a bang like a gunshot, the cracker flew open to reveal two Chocolate Frogs, which landed right beside Professor Dumbledore's half-empty plate.

"Excellent!" said Professor Dumbledore. "Perhaps today I shall finally receive a card which you do not have, Rolanda."

Madam Hooch, who was dressed in vivid purple and was sitting two seats away from Professor Dumbledore, smiled as she said, "I highly doubt that, considering my collection of cards is absolutely perfect." (Harry saw Ronald Weasley looking up to comment, but the latter was immediately stopped by a kick beneath the table, from Prefect Weasley.)

"That remains to be seen," said Professor Dumbledore. He unwrapped his first Frog and decided to play a game of 'Guess the Card', by giving out clues. "Argus, I suppose you could say that this person is responsible for a good portion of your troubles."

"Eh?" Mr Filch lowered one brow, and scratched his cheek. "That's far too vague, Headmaster. Got plenty of them going around every year."

"I knew he'd say that," said Hagrid.

"Hmm," said Professor McGonagall, "they don't put Peeves on a card, do they?"

"Close, but not quite." Professor Dumbledore looked around the table. "Anyone else?"

"Is it a witch or a wizard?" one of the Weasley twins asked. "That'll narrow it down a bit, Professor."

"A wizard," said Professor Dumbledore, and at that moment, Mr Filch slapped his hand on the table, and looked victorious.

"It's one of them, then," he said, pointing at the twins. "They set off Dungbombs all the time, Headmaster."

"Why, Argus, that's remarkably close. Even more so than Professor McGonagall was."

"Really?" Mr Filch looked part pleased and part surprised. "Well then, er ... something to do with a Dungbomb, then?"

"Precisely," said Professor Dumbledore. He flipped the card and revealed the image of Alberic Grunnion, inventor of the Dungbomb. "Right, then. I wonder who we shall have next?"

The Christmas dinner carried on (Hengist of Woodcroft was the second card), and Harry had a blast of a time savouring the wide variety of foods and desserts on the table. He stuffed himself to his heart's content while listening to Percy Weasley talk about all sorts of random academic-things (though it wasn't the same as listening to Hermione). Then there was the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity of seeing the staff become more casual by the minute, to the extent of a drunk Hagrid kissing Professor McGonagall on her cheek.

"Quirinus!" said Professor Dumbledore, when Professor Quirrell eventually stood up and excused himself from the table. "Surely you are not leaving us so soon?"

"My ap - p - pologies, Headmaster. But I'd p - prefer the comfort of my office. I think a n - nap is in order after our d - delicious feast."

Professor Dumbledore nodded, and excused Quirrell from the table. Then, minutes later, Professor Snape stood up and left as well, leaving the table at just ten people plus a cat and a rat. However, this did little to dampen the cheerful atmosphere (it actually made things better, in Harry's opinion), which carried on throughout the afternoon beneath the darkening winter sky.

Things got even better once Harry returned to his dormitory to test out his father's special cloth. Harry covered himself completely and made his way out of the common room unseen. The whole of Hogwarts was open to him now; he could go wherever he wanted. But in the end, with all things considered, Harry chose to remain close to home. He wandered around the massive, labyrinthine corridors for what felt like ages before returning to the common room at around ten o'clock that night.

So far, so good. Harry felt relieved at having been able to sneak around undetected, though something told him it was only a matter of time until someone would be on his case. In the meantime, however, Harry progressed his nightly trips from the dungeons to the ground floor (which wasn't all that interesting, really), before moving up to the first-floor corridor during the first week of January. There had to be _something_ interesting among all these corridors, storerooms, classes old and new, and whatever else was up here, right?


	9. Another Meeting

Harry's continued exploration revealed some interesting places on the first floor. He came across an empty classroom in which there were a dozen burnt textbooks strewn over the floor, an old storeroom whose dust was curiously unsettled (as if someone had been standing against the wall or lying on the ground), and a small room containing a barrel of water balloons. However, given the sheer size of the castle itself (not to mention its ability to change), Harry knew that it would take ages to get a decent idea of what was up here. He therefore spent the last few evenings of his Christmas holidays exploring the second floor, with the rest of the school returning on the evening of Sunday, the fifth.

"Happy new term!" said Daphne. She ran up to Harry and stopped just short of hugging him in the now-packed common room. "I haven't seen you since last year!"

And then she giggled.

"That joke only works on New Year, silly," said Pansy. She shook her head and then looked at Harry. "Did you get our presents? Mine was the best, right?"

"No, _mine_ was," said Daphne.

Deciding to keep the peace, Harry said that he appreciated everyone's gift, though he secretly excluded the Dursleys from that statement.

"So, what did your Muggles get you?" Pansy asked. Her question was overheard by Harry's roommates nearby, and they strode over like a bunch of hungry hyenas. "Lemme see!"

"Yeah! Show us!" said Daphne. She was joined by Susan and Tracey, the former eyeing Harry in a sceptical manner as he responded.

"Well ... they sent me some money, yeah." _Shouldn't've thrown it in the fire, damn._

"Muggle money?" Draco asked. "Might as well put it in the toilet. But let's first see it."

"Yeah," said Theodore. "Let's see it."

Harry's eyes darted to the fireplace, on his right, as he tried to think up some kind of an excuse. "I accidentally dropped it in the fire, sorry. Real bummer, that."

"What?" Pansy lowered one brow, and slightly raised the other. "That's just stupid. Were you drunk?"

" _Bladdered_ , more like," said Daphne. Then she flopped onto the couch behind her. "Ask them to send some more, then. C'mon!"

"Nah, it's fine," said Harry. "I mean, it's not like I'll need it here anyway."

Although the topic of the Dursleys' gift was soon dropped, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that Susan was on his case. She watched him like a hawk as the group of ten discussed their holidays at a corner table. Then, once they were alone, Susan leaned forward and said, in a whisper: "I know you're not happy there."

"Huh?"

"It's so obvious," said Susan. "You never talk about them. You never get any mail from them. Your cousin watched some musical while you didn't. Heck, you just so _happened_ to no longer have their present. Did they actually send you anything, or were you just lying?"

"I already told you, they sent me money."

Unfortunately, Susan wasn't buying it. She sat up straight in her high-backed chair and narrowed her eyes a bit. "Oh really? So where's the envelope or whatever, then? You couldn't have dropped the _whole_ package into the fireplace."

"I threw it away, obviously." Harry felt a jolt of irritation in his gut. This was turning into more of an interrogation than anything else. "Feel free to go bin-dipping if you're that desperate."

"There's no need to get rude," said Susan, looking offended. "It's just, well, something doesn't feel right about you and your guardians, Harry. Are they mean to you, maybe? I can owl my auntie whenever I want, so feel free to speak your mind."

Harry was never going to show weakness at Hogwarts, let alone in Slytherin. So he got up from his chair, said that he wished to get an early night's sleep, and then made his way to his dormitory. But no sooner had Harry stepped foot into the room than Draco and the boys rushed him at the entrance.

"Harry!" said Draco, waving the invisibility cloth in the air as he spoke. "Where in the world did you find _this_? Do you have any idea what it _is_?"

"Some kind of cloth that turns you invisible, yeah."

"An _Invisibility Cloak_!" said Blaise, reaching to swipe the Cloak from Draco (who tried to get it back). "Did you get this for Christmas? Who the _hell_ would send something like _this_ to a first-year? Do you know how much they go for? Even Mother won't get me one. Mind you, she's quite cheap on the whole."

"I still can't believe this is an _actual_ Invisibility Cloak," said Theodore. He swiped the Cloak from Blaise and held it up to the lantern light above, as if inspecting it. "I mean, Draco and I were just about to go for a test run when you came in."

"Does it really work out there?" Vincent asked.

"Think you can get into the kitchens with it?" Gregory added.

Harry nodded, though he wished he hadn't left his most prized possession – his inheritance – just lying out here in the open. But now that one of his biggest secrets was out, Harry felt a surge of dread in his stomach. If _this_ was the reaction of Harry's own roommates, then what about the rest of his house?

"You've _got_ to let us test this Cloak out," Draco said as he stood facing the door. "I mean, just think of all the trouble we can get the other houses into, especially those hot-headed Gryffindors!"

Theodore grinned while rubbing his hands together. "Yeah! We might even be able to get their password with this! I know a few guys who got some scores to settle up there. What do you say, Harry? Just give us an hour or two with your Cloak."

But before Harry could even respond, Blaise chimed in with: "The third-floor corridor!"

"Huh?" said the rest of the group.

"We could use Harry's Cloak to see what that old idiot's stashed up there!" said Blaise. "'A very painful death', remember?"

Draco's expression lit up in excitement. "Damn, Blaise, you're right! If the overworked man-hag's got something illegal up there, well ... I suppose it's only right that the board of governors be notified at once. No way Father would stand for having a most painful death in this school. Let's investigate!"

"Yeah!" said Theodore. "How many of us can fit under that Cloak at once? Three?"

Draco nodded as he held up the Cloak. "Without Crabbe and Goyle, of course."

Although Vincent and Gregory said nothing, Harry could tell that they would do anything to join in on the Cloak adventure. And that was when Harry made a startling realisation.

"Hey, now, hold on," Harry said, taking back his Cloak (much to his roommates' disappointment). "You just insulted the Gryffindors earlier, and yet you're acting like them now."

Draco looked aghast; his mouth hanging open.

"Breaking into another common room, sneaking up to the forbidden part of the third floor, starting grudge matches ..." Harry gave a slight sigh. "Are you even listening to yourselves? Just think of the points you'll lose Slytherin if you're caught – and you're bound to be."

"Just think of the points we could _gain_ ," said Draco. The others nodded in unison.

"It's really selfish of you," Harry said while folding up his Cloak, "especially when we're still suffering from all those points we lost a few months back. I want that seventh trophy no matter what."

"Come on, man," said Theodore. "Don't be like that. It's bad enough that you hang out with the girls more than us. But now you gotta be such a drag, too."

_"What?"_ Harry felt a rush of heat in his chest.

"He means you're ruining the fun," said Blaise. "Come on, Harry, just a few nights with the Cloak. Please?"

Draco added his bit by saying: "We won't damage or lose it, we swear. Pure-blood honour."

"He just made that last part up," said Theodore. "But, really, just give us a few nights with the Cloak. Come on."

"OK, _fine_." Harry left his Invisibility Cloak at the foot of his bed. Then he gathered his pyjamas and approached his bathroom door. "Just do whatever. But don't blame me if you get caught."

As much as Harry _hated_ lending his father's Cloak, he would rather start the new term without any drama. The sooner he got his roommates off his back, the better. He just hoped that they wouldn't be caught.

"All right, cool," said Draco, throwing the Cloak over Blaise, Theodore, and himself. "We'll be back in about an hour or so. Then I'll take you two" (Vincent and Gregory) "with me next."

Harry, meanwhile, got freshened up before heading to bed at around ten past nine. He shut his curtains and tucked himself in while ignoring the loud, excited chatter between Vincent and Gregory in the room. The sooner everyone was preoccupied with their schoolwork, the better.

* * *

Monday morning started off pretty much as per usual for Harry, until he saw the looks on his roommates' faces. They were all packing their bags without even saying a word.

"Morning," Harry said after opening his curtains. "How'd it go last night? Where's my Cloak?"

"Yeah, erm, about that ..." Theodore crammed his History of Magic textbook in his bag. "As it just so happened –"

"We got caught," said Blaise. "Snape got us before we could even leave the dungeons."

Harry's heart sank. _"Snape?"_

"Yeah," said Draco, slamming his Herbology textbook into his bag. "It's like he was waiting for us at the stairs, or something. Stupid, nosy _half-blood_."

"And my Cloak?" Harry asked. "Tell me it wasn't confiscated."

"Actually, it was," said Blaise. "Snape's got it locked up tight in his office. At least we didn't lose too many points, though. Snape only took two each and gave us all detention tonight – including you."

Harry was about to respond when Gregory said what the former already knew. "Probably 'cause it's your Cloak. Me and Vincent didn't get detention. Just you four."

"You might as well just say 'Told you so' now," Draco told Harry. "But you know what? I don't care. Maybe I'll get my own Cloak from Father without Snape even knowing. Ha! That'll show him."

Fuming, Harry kept silent as he carried on with his morning routine. He got freshened up, packed his bag, and stopped just short of storming out the common room. He wasn't going to throw some stupid tantrum like Dudley. But even so, Harry couldn't believe that Draco, Blaise, and Theodore had been so inept as to get caught before even leaving the dungeons. How in the world was Harry supposed to get his father's Cloak back from _Severus Snape_ , of all people?

"Good morning," Susan greeted Harry at breakfast. She tilted her head a centimetre to the side while watching him take his seat opposite her. "And now? Don't tell me you're still upset over last night? If it helps, you can keep your secrets, OK?"

"Do a pinkie promise," said Tracey. Susan rolled her eyes.

"I don't do that rubbish."

But Harry wasn't paying that much attention to the girls. He kept thinking about Professor Snape, and how Harry was going to get the Invisibility Cloak back.

"Helloooo?" Daphne said, waving her fork in front of Harry. "Earth to Mister Potter. Did your brain just die?"

"How can his brain be dead if he's still alive?" Susan asked. "Don't be silly, Daphne. Maybe Harry's just super preoccupied with work – like Hermione Granger always is."

"That's what I always say," said Pansy, setting down her spoon. "Granger's an alien from planet 'Bookworm', and Harry's the translator. He's the only one who can understand her, yeah?"

They all laughed, except for Harry.

"OK, seriously now," said Daphne. "What's got you all miffed, Harry? Is someone messing with you? I'll beat their grid good."

"I want my Cloak back from Snape."

"Your ... cloak?" Daphne asked, while the others exchanged quizzical glances. "But you're wearing it right now. See, _there's_ your plain black robes, _there's_ your hat on your head, and _here's_ your winter cloak over your robes. All checked! Oh, and there's your socks, shoes ... and whatever else you're wearing."

Just then, one of the older students – a broad-shouldered girl – sitting on Tracey's right spoke. "Hey, not to interrupt you kids or anything, but is it true that Potter got an Invisibility Cloak for Christmas? Malfoy's talking about it up there. _Everyone_ 's talking about it."

Pansy and her roommates immediately looked at Harry, who nodded. The four girls went wide-eyed, cupped their hands over their mouths, and gasped.

"Wow," said Daphne. "For real?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Draco, Theodore, and Blaise got caught using it last night."

Just as the older girl had said, the topic of Harry's Invisibility Cloak soon spread like wildfire across the Slytherin table – and beyond. Many students were whispering to one another while looking in Harry's direction. And Harry reckoned he had a good idea of what they might be saying.

"Trust Draco to run his stupid mouth," Harry said, groaning. "Now everyone'll think it's ridiculous for a first-year to have a Cloak."

"They're really rare, though," Susan said. "I mean, I've only ever seen one –"

"Your auntie's, right?" Pansy asked. And when Susan agreed, Pansy followed up with: _"Wew, wew."_

"Anyway," – Susan ignored the jibe – "I hear it's very hard to make an Invisibility Cloak, which makes it very, very expensive. Who sent it to you?"

Harry shrugged.

"No gift card or anything?" Susan asked, looking as shocked as her roommates. "Not even a name?"

"Maybe it's illegal," said Pansy, "which means you're under arrest, Harry. Watch Susan whip out those handcuffs. I know she keeps them in her bag, just in case."

_"Wew, wew!"_

"Don't steal my joke!" Pansy told Daphne. "And besides, you're saying it wrong. Yours sounds more like 'Wayew wayew'."

Daphne narrowed her eyes and made a slight groaning (or was it a growling?) sound.

"It does seem a bit suspicious, though, doesn't it?" said Tracey, leaning forward to speak past Daphne. "I doubt it's anyone in our house."

"I doubt it's even a student," said Susan. "Or even a staff member. Do you know anyone else out there, Harry?"

"Nope."

"Which makes no sense," said Pansy. She looked diagonally across the table – at Harry – and said, "You're _Harry Potter_!"

"Really?"

Ignoring the sarcasm, Pansy followed up with: "You should've made many, many friends and stuff. Enough to fill a big jumping-castle, at least."

"Yeah!" said Daphne, smacking her hand on the table. "How come you don't have more friends? You should've had enough to start a big party with lots of ice-creams and stuff. Ithink Susan's right about you not being happy at those Muggles."

"Just drop it," said Susan. "If Harry doesn't want to talk about it, then leave it. Let's get to class."

And so they fell back into their routine of History of Magic, Herbology (where some of the Ravenclaws questioned Harry on his Cloak), Transfiguration, and Charms, after which Harry and the girls discussed various ways to convince Professor Snape to release the Cloak. But try as they might, none of them could think of anything that would work.

"This is hopeless," Harry said as they made their way up to the Entrance Hall. "Snape's never going to give it back."

"He can't keep it forever, though," said Susan.

Dinner was a subdued affair that evening; Harry ate in silence and later joined Blaise, Draco, and Theodore as they went down to the Potions classroom for their detention. Professor Snape assigned each of them ten cauldrons to clean without using magic. And after at least an hour's worth of scrubbing, Blaise, Draco, and Theodore were allowed to leave, while Harry was told to stay behind.

_Here we go._

"It never ceases to amaze me how extraordinarily like your father you are, Potter," Professor Snape said as he stood before Harry in the dimly lit classroom. "He, too, had a habit of lending that Cloak for others' misdoings. Oh yes, you may not have told your friends about where that Cloak had come from, but I know perfectly well which idiot had owned it before you."

"So _you_ sent it, then, sir?"

"I'd sooner toss it in the fire," said Snape. He stood up straight and clenched his fist at his side. "But, unfortunately, that Cloak remains the property of a student. One that's every bit as arrogant as his fat-headed father, it seems."

Harry had had enough. He was getting sick and tired of listening to Professor Snape berate James Potter at every available opportunity. "Why can't you leave my dad alone?" he asked. Snape glowered at him.

"Because you're acting like him. And as Head of Slytherin house – _your_ house, Potter – it is my duty to stamp out any delinquency in my students. But, fortunately, I've managed to save your little friends from your infectious –"

"They're the ones who wanted to use the Cloak," said Harry, feeling his hands tremble at his sides. "Not me."

"Shifting the blame, are we?" Snape's upper lip curled into a sneer. "I wonder who else was fond of doing that?"

Harry proceeded to tell of how Draco and the rest essentially pressurised him into lending the Cloak, though Snape hardly seemed to care.

"Pathetic," Snape said. "This reminds me of one of your father's friends, actually. The most inept prefect Hogwarts has ever had."

"Who?"

"Get out!" said Snape. "And don't expect to get your Cloak back until the end of the year, _is that clear_?"

* * *

"He said all that?" Susan said in a hushed whisper later that night. She and her roommates were sharing a corner table with Harry in the common room. "That's it. Where's my quill? Perhaps a suspension will stamp out the delinquency in _him_!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Pansy said beside her. "Just because your aunt's the top cop doesn't mean she can stick her nose in everyone's business. I'm sure there's boundaries in the Ministry."

Susan tilted her nose in the air as she said, "For your information, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement stands a good chance of some day making Minister for Magic. So how about I get Auntie Amelia to put Snape in his place? He keeps picking on Harry!"

"Rather ask your aunt to get us some doughnuts," said Pansy. "I'm hungry."

"I'll take chocolate-chip ones," said Daphne. "Or doughnuts with lots of thick, sweet cream. They mustn't be too hard and crispy, though. And definitely not too oily."

Harry shook his head. "You people are like vacuum cleaners, sucking up all the food."

"Look who's talking!" said Tracey. She joined in on the conversation as it went from Professor Snape to all sorts of desserts; a verbal U-turn if Harry ever saw one. "You should try adding some runny honey to a doughnut. Or put it _inside_ with some pudding as well. Mmm, yummy."

Daphne beamed. "One time, Dad fried us doughnuts with raspberry ice-cream inside. He even made us big ice-cream doughnuts with hot chocolate inside. That was delicious."

"Must be nice to use magic in food, huh?" said Harry. Pansy nodded in an exaggerated manner.

"Yeah! Which _you_ should've got instead of living with stupid _Muggles_."

And that was when Harry realised that he was long overdue for another meeting with Professor Dumbledore.

"Sorry to break up the party," said seventh-year prefect Virginia Abberton. "But I must ask that you go to your dormitories now. Better to get a good night's sleep than to sit here chatting about food all night."

While the others stood up and left to their dormitories, Harry was called aside by Prefect Abberton (or 'Ginny', as she was often called).

"Just so you know," Prefect Abberton said, "we've heard rumours of some people wanting to steal your Invisibility Cloak. But don't worry," she added, seeing the alarmed look on Harry's face, "they so much as _try_ to break into your room, and there'll be hell to pay."

But Harry wasn't entirely convinced. He mentioned that although Professor Snape had the Cloak, _someone_ was bound to make their move once the Cloak was returned. Prefect Abberton agreed.

"Invisibility Cloaks are extremely expensive," she said, "not to mention rare and difficult to make in good quality. And from what I've heard, yours is right up there with the best."

Harry dropped his shoulders and gave a slight sigh through his nose. "Let me guess, Draco Malfoy said so, right?"

"Mm-hmm. Who sent it to you anyway?"

Harry shrugged.

"Huh, that's odd. In any case," – Prefect Abberton (politely) shooed Harry towards the far end of the room – "off to bed with you now."

Despite feeling paranoid over his Invisibility Cloak, Harry still had a decent night's rest as he dreamed of Snape kicking and screaming while being thrown in the back of a police car. But then the scene changed to Harry, himself, being thrown in the back of the Dursleys' car. Harry woke with a start.

_I am_ not _going back to the Dursleys_ _,_ he told himself, wiping away the beads of sweat on his forehead. _They are_ not _my family. That is_ not _my home._

And he fell asleep again.

* * *

The rest of the first week consisted mainly of classes, homework, and Quidditch-talk. Everyone was looking forward to the upcoming match between Ravenclaw and Slytherin, though Harry had more important things on his mind. He tried to set up a meeting with Professor Dumbledore but could only be accommodated towards the end of the second week, which was fine. In fact, Harry was even willing to miss the match if it meant getting a chance to discuss the Dursleys again.

"You are treading on dangerous ground, Potter," Professor Snape said in his office during the second week of term. "The Headmaster, as I'm sure you're aware of by now, is an extremely busy man. And yet some first-year dares to storm my office demanding to see him?"

"I'm not _demanding_ anything," Harry said. "And I came in here quietly, sir."

Professor Snape spoke in an almost theatrical manner, as if wanting to provoke Harry. "Let the ordinary people worry about being accommodated by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore! Famous Harry Potter gets whatever he wants, whenever he wants! When he says 'Jump', we ought to ask 'How high?'!"

"I don't expect you to understand, Professor," Harry said while keeping his tone as polite as possible. "But if _you_ were living with the Dursleys, you'd want to get away as soon as possible, too. I can barely even call them my family. Not even my blood-related 'aunt', Petunia."

If anything, Professor Snape looked even more irritated than usual, if that was even possible. He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward at his desk as he said, "Grow some spine and deal with it, _Potter_. Don't pester me with your family squabbles. What? Is an affluent, middle-class neighbourhood not good enough for the saviour of the wizarding world?"

"I don't have a problem with the _place_ ," said Harry, feeling his chest heat up and his heart-rate increase. "It's the _people_ I'm living with."

"And why should I care?"

"Because" – Harry decided to use Snape's words against him – "that's your duty as my Head of House, isn't it? You're supposed to care about your students, Professor."

It felt as if Harry was talking to a brick wall, especially as Professor Snape followed up with: "Are your guardians arguing or fighting, Potter?"

"Not really, no."

"Does your uncle constantly berate you for no good reason and essentially hate everything? Does he beat up your aunt? Is your aunt powerless to stop him? Is your family bordering on poverty?"

_What?_ Those questions sounded awfully specific, though Harry wasn't sure why Professor Snape would go into such details. "Not really – well, er, they all pick on me if I ask questions or even mention something out of the ordinary, yes."

"I see no problem," said Snape, with an air of wanting this conversation to be over and done with. "Though I do see a spoiled little brat expecting a five-star luxury-hotel over the holidays. In fact, I once knew someone of this very same mindset, Potter."

"Who?"

Professor Snape ignored Harry, and carried on by saying, "This brat also had quite an affluent home – much like you do. And yet he, too, felt hard done by his family and decided to move out when the time was right. Oh, and have I mentioned that he, too, inherited a decent share of wealth to spend as he pleased? _Pathetic_."

Was this another one of James Potter's friends? Or was it the man himself again? Harry shrugged it off and decided to ignore Snape's mind-games. "What did Professor Dumbledore say, sir? Is it a yes or a no?"

"Take this and leave, Potter."

Professor Snape gave Harry a roll of parchment, which Harry unrolled as he stepped out of the office and made his way down the corridor.

_Dear Harry,_

_If it is convenient to you, I shall see you in my office this coming Saturday at the conclusion of lunch. Please refrain from waiting outside my office during the Quidditch match or during lunch, as I do not wish to hinder your participation in either of those events._

_Yours sincerely_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_P.S. Chocolate Frogs._

Harry couldn't help but chuckle after reading Professor Dumbledore's letter. Why did the Headmaster have to be so formal when writing to a mere, scrawny eleven-year-old? Regardless, Harry tucked away the parchment and carried on with the rest of his evening. He couldn't wait to resume his talk regarding the Dursleys, and this impatience plagued Harry throughout the week – even on to the big day itself.

In fact, Harry was so preoccupied in rehearsing whatever came to mind that he was only half focused on the Quidditch match on Saturday. Throughout the game Harry found himself daydreaming about his upcoming meeting. And by the end of the fifty-three-minute showdown (which ended two hundred and ten to a hundred and twenty in favour of Slytherin), Harry all but rushed up the slippery lawns on his way back to the castle.

"Hey! Chill out, silly!" said Pansy, rushing to keep up with Harry. "You still gotta wait until _after_ lunch's officially done, remember? Have some patience already!"

"What's so important about this meeting anyway?" Daphne asked. "You're legging it just to chat with Big Boss? You still didn't even say what it's about."

Harry was spared the trouble of answering as at least a dozen older-Slytherins came rushing past. They were all cheers and celebrations, much like the rest of the house that afternoon.

"Ravenclaw's still leading, though," said Tracey, as the crowd made their way into the castle. "But only by forty."

"Yeah!" said Pansy. "So have a little faith, man. Higgs did his job, and that's what _really_ matters."

That wasn't entirely accurate. The rest of the team had also played their part in the league standings so far. And as things currently stood, Ravenclaw were in the lead with four hundred and forty points (after two games), then Slytherin on four hundred points (after two games), then Gryffindor on seventy points, and Hufflepuff on fifty points. The next match would be Gryffindor against Hufflepuff, on the twenty-second of February.

But Harry wasn't all that focused on Quidditch at the moment. He rushed his meal and waited out the remainder of lunch before _finally_ heading up to the Headmaster's office. Professor Dumbledore was already waiting for Harry, who took his seat without hesitation.

"Well then," said Professor Dumbledore, "I believe we last concluded on the issue of your family, correct?"

"They're not my family," Harry said without a moment's hesitation. Then he spotted some of the previous Headmasters and Headmistresses muttering among one another in their portraits, though Harry ignored them. "Nothing's going to change the Dursleys and their ways, Professor. They'll always hate me, you, and everything else that's not 'normal' – no matter what."

"And yet, be that as it may," said Professor Dumbledore, "your aunt still took you in all those years ago. She may have done so grudgingly, furiously, unwillingly, and bitterly; but the fact remains that she accepted you into her home."

None of this made any sense to Harry. Was he supposed to be thankful for being accepted and then, quite literally, thrown aside? "As a prisoner, yes," he said. "But I don't think any child should have to 'grow up' locked inside a tiny bedroom beneath the stairs. And neither should any child do nothing while the rest of his 'family' have a great life, Professor. I'm _never_ going back to those awful strangers."

Professor Dumbledore stared for a moment at one of the strange, silver instruments in the room. Then he looked back at Harry and said, "Please understand that your safety is my utmost concern at this point. And for that reason, Harry, I simply cannot remove you from number four, Privet Drive."

"And what exactly makes it so safe there?"

"Let's suppose that I do remove you from the Dursleys," Professor Dumbledore said as he placed his arms on his desk and locked his fingers like a puzzle. "Where else would you stay during the holidays, then, might I ask?"

"Susan Bones," Harry said without hesitation. "Her aunt's the top cop – er, Head of magical police. So it's definitely safe there, right?"

Professor Dumbledore looked at Harry for a few seconds, and then he said, "Well, Madam Bones is by no means an incapable witch, yes. But the fact remains that she does not live with her niece. Miss Bones, as I'm sure you've been told, currently lives with her parents."

"But Susan said her aunt'll definitely move in if I come to stay with them, Professor."

"The protection you are afforded at the Dursleys is, to put it rather plainly, highly advanced magic, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore. "I do not wish to elaborate on the finer details at this point, but its complexity is such that neither Lord Voldemort nor any of his followers could hope to harm you during your stay at the Dursleys. Both you and your family are currently being afforded the greatest protection there is."

But Harry wasn't buying any of this. "Susan said her family knows loads of spells, too. Plus her aunt can get those, er ... _Aurors_ to help boost what she already knows."

"Indeed, though conventional enchantments can be broken – as was evident during the war. However, the level of protection bestowed upon you and your family is ... remarkably different."

Harry felt as if he was talking to a brick wall, not unlike with Professor Snape. "Then maybe copy that protection over to a new place, sir. I'm sure _you_ , of all people, can definitely do that, right?"

If Professor Dumbledore was flattered at the compliment, he hid it well. "No, I'm afraid that I cannot do so. This protection I speak of is exclusive to you, your family, and your current home."

"And what if the Dursleys decide to move, sir?" Harry asked. It was a valid question after all.

"Then you shall remain protected. And that is all I am willing to say, for now."

Despite Harry's best efforts, he simply could not find a way to persuade the Headmaster to remove him from the Dursleys. Whatever this _magnificent_ protection was, it seemed to trump Harry's own quality of life. Harry gave a slight sigh through his nose.

"So I'm stuck with the Dursleys no matter what, huh?" he said, frowning. "There's nobody else who can beat that mysterious, amazing _protection_ of my 'family', is there?"

"Unfortunately," said Professor Dumbledore, "even the best conventional spell can fall to the most determined wizard out there. And I believe it is safe to say that many of Lord Voldemort's supporters remain acquitted and at large, as you are aware."

"But why am I so important to protect anyway?" Harry asked, more to himself than Professor Dumbledore. "I mean, even if Voldemort does somehow come back someday, there's better wizards than me who can take him. _You_ can go after him, Professor. I just want a decent home."

That comment, if anything, made Professor Dumbledore pause for thought before saying, "Should Voldemort ever return, he would make it his life's ambition to hunt – well, I do not wish to burden you with such knowledge, Harry. Please enjoy the rest of your afternoon. I believe your fellow Slytherins ought to be celebrating their victory, yes?"

"I'm not stupid, sir," said Harry, refusing to take the cue to stand up and leave. "I know Voldemort'll come for me first. But I don't care. I just want to go home to a place where people don't hate me. And where I don't have to spend all day trapped in a small bedroom. It's horrible."

"Damn _child_. You were told to leave, so lea –"

"Thank you, Phineas," Professor Dumbledore told the sly-looking portrait who had just spoken up. Surprisingly, Harry saw that it was a Slytherin who had gone all hostile on him. "Perhaps I ought to have Professor Snape return your Invisibility Cloak."

Harry shrugged. "It's probably safer there, seeing as people are looking to steal it. And besides, I thought we were talking about the Dursleys, sir? No way is that place my home, sorry."

"I'm sure you do not mean that, Harry. Would a polite word with your family be preferable?"

"Won't work," said Harry. "They'll never ever change. It'll make things worse, actually."

"Well then," – Professor Dumbledore sat back in his chair – "we shall discuss this again at a later stage, I suppose."

Exasperated, Harry stood up from his chair and stared at the desk for a few seconds. Then he looked at Professor Dumbledore and said, "It'll just be the same conversation again, sir, no offence. I can't go back to a place that's not my home. It's like, I don't know, torture or something. I might as well go live with Professor Snape." _Oh crap, I did_ not _just say that._

Professor Dumbledore shook his head and said, "I doubt that Professor Snape would be willing to accommodate you in his home. In any case, you are safest at your relatives."

"I told you, they're not my –"

"Enjoy the rest of your day, Harry."


	10. M

The best that could be said was that Harry at least tried to convince Professor Dumbledore. But now that he actually thought about it, what chance did an eleven-year-old stand against someone ten times his age? Dumbledore was never going to allow Harry to leave the Dursleys, that's for sure.

Speaking of the Dursleys, Harry still couldn't understand how they were affording him the greatest protection there was against Lord Voldemort. Dumbledore had mentioned it being 'highly advanced' magic involving Harry, his family, and their home. But nothing that Harry looked up in the library revealed anything of the sort. Sure, there were various protective-enchantments one could use to safeguard a place, but this 'Muggle magic' sounded like a load of nonsense. Even Hermione stared in confusion as Harry went from one library-book to another during the second-last week of January.

"What on earth are you looking for?" Hermione asked on Tuesday afternoon, while sitting at the back of the library. She watched as Harry opened yet another book and ran through its table-of-contents page. "How about you actually _read_ through those chapters instead of just looking at the index page? You're not going to learn anything at this rate."

"Dumbledore said the Dursleys are protecting me with some 'highly advanced' magic," said Harry. "So I'm trying to figure out what it is."

Hermione looked slightly amused. "Erm, Harry ... Muggles can't do magic, you know."

"I swear that's what Dumbledore said."

"Then you must have misheard," said Hermione. "Muggles _can't_ do magic, no matter what. It's just not possible."

"Then explain why Dumbledore's forcing me to –" Harry stopped in his tracks. But the damage had already been done as Hermione lowered her book and gave Harry an odd look.

"What do you mean 'forcing'? Is something wrong?"

_Damn it. Should've kept quiet._

"Harry? I asked you a question."

"Just leave it, OK?" Harry said in a loud whisper. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Which is exactly why we should be talking about it. Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm going to look over there," Harry said as he gestured towards the long, narrow aisle on his left. "You keep studying and whatever."

"Fine. Suit yourself."

Although the subject of the Dursleys was soon dropped, Harry couldn't help but notice Hermione shooting him a suspicious glance every now and then. Hermione, just like Susan, was like a shark that had sensed blood in the water. What was it with these people looking to fish out Harry's issues? Schoolwork was one thing; but when it came to Harry's personal problems, he wanted neither help nor pity. He would figure things out on his own, somehow.

* * *

The snow melted as February arrived. Purplish-grey clouds hung low over the castle, bringing forth icy showers which drenched the grounds and made the lawns slippery and muddy. And with the teachers pushing on while the weather grew ever worse outside, Harry chose to spend much of his time studying within the warmth of his common room.

"How do you manage to study so much?" Pansy asked one evening at a corner table. "Don't you ever get bored?"

"Yeah!" said Daphne, sitting beside Pansy and opposite Harry. "It's not normal to read so much, you know. Unless you're a Ravenclaw, maybe."

"Or a Mudblood Granger," said Draco further down the table. He was busy completing a crossword puzzle with Theodore and Blaise, while Vincent and Gregory were reading their comic books as usual. "Perhaps Harry's trying to be as studious as his one-sided pal."

"His what?" Daphne asked.

"Granger's totally stuck in her books," said Theodore, still trying to figure out his clue involving one of the Ministry's departments. "I don't see her returning Harry's friendship at all. So that makes her a stuck-up, nose-in-the-air Mudblood who keeps things one-sided, see?"

Draco nodded in agreement. "Yeah, how many times has Granger even approached Harry for conversation, huh? It's always the other way around."

Harry, meanwhile, forced himself to carry on re-reading the basics of Transfiguration. Sure, the complex theory was beginning to make his eyelids feel rather heavy, but Harry couldn't stop thinking about how Snape had vanished Longbottom's potion, and how Prefect Abberton had duplicated that jug of apple juice. The latter was especially interesting, given that such a spell would allow Harry to eat as much as he wanted, unlike at the Dursleys.

"I can see you're forcing yourself," Susan told Harry across the table. "You look like you're about to fall asleep."

Pansy sniggered. "Place him under arrest for being boring, then."

Susan was about to respond when Harry started practising on one of his empty ink-bottles. He turned the bottle into a partially-silver goblet, and then Untransfigured it back into an ink bottle.

"Cooooool," Pansy said in a sort of sing-song voice. "But it's not totally right. Try again."

"You can't even _get_ a goblet shape," said Susan, frowning. "Maybe you should stop talking, and start practising. At least my goblet sort of looks like one."

Daphne drew her wand and said, "Let's all make silver goblets! Winner gets a Chocolate Frog! Harry, you can't join."

"What? Why?"

"'Cause yours is already too good," said Daphne. "That's not fair. No Frog for you."

"We'll use Harry's as a comparison," Tracey said beside Harry, speaking for the first time since shutting her Gilderoy Lockhart comic. Then she turned to Harry and said, "So that means no more practising until we're done, OK?"

"Sure, knock yourselves out."

While the rest of his friends were either competing or lazing around, Harry fixed his eyes on the sleep-inducing text before him. He read at a snail's pace, taking in as many words as he could despite forgetting them as soon as he reached the next sentence. Was this how people like Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall got better over the years?

"Er, Harry?" Pansy said sometime later. "You know we're finished, right? Susan got the Frog."

"He's totally in his own world," said Daphne. Then she paused for a moment before adding: "Let's play Charades! I'll go first."

At that, Harry peered over the top of his textbook and saw Daphne grinning as she glanced at him. Then she put on a deranged look of concentration while reading an imaginary book in her hands, followed by 'collapsing' on to the table in a theatrical manner; her blonde hair fanning out around her.

"Who the hell's that supposed to be?" Pansy asked while staring at Daphne. "Us in History of Magic, maybe?"

Daphne continued her charade, much like after the troll incident.

"Someone who passed out?" Tracey asked.

"Give us a clue already," Susan told Daphne, who remained fast 'asleep' on the desk. "Aren't you supposed to help us?"

"It's me," Harry said while keeping his eyes on his textbook. "She's making fun of my studying."

Daphne jerked up and said, "Correct! You're going to go nuts from all that reading, Harry. Give it a break."

But no matter what Daphne and the others said, Harry forced himself to carry on with his studies. He'd already missed out on a decade's worth of life, failed to attend Quidditch tryouts, lost his Invisibility Cloak, and failed to convince Dumbledore to remove him from the Dursleys, so the least that Harry could do was to pass his exams with flying colours. And if he had to risk straining his eyes and getting a headache along the way, then so be it.

February moved on, and although Valentine's Day drew ever closer, many of the lower-year students couldn't care less about the month of love.

"What a waste of time," Draco said one afternoon in the near-empty common room. He and the rest of his roommates were sitting at a corner table, watching the male fifth-year prefect, Everett Burke, smooth his blond hair while sitting before a conjured mirror. "If I were him, I'd spend less time looking for dates, and more time getting idiot Gryffindors into trouble. Now _that_ sounds like fun, am I right?"

Vincent and Gregory nodded in unison. Then Theodore stood up from his chair and said, "Let's go play skittles instead."

"I'm in," said Draco. "Five Sickles a man. Winner takes all."

And he led the group back to their dormitory, where they dumped their Sickles into a bowl and got started on a game of 'killer' wizarding skittles. The rules were similar to the Muggle version of the game, with each player getting three 'lives' as they went one after the other on the throw.

"Thirty Sickles is a lot of sweets," said Vincent, rolling his shoulders. "I'm not going easy here."

"Me too," said Gregory.

"Oh please." Blaise lifted the wooden, disc-shaped 'cheese' (which was about ten inches in diameter) that was meant to be thrown at the skittles pins. "I've been playing this game for years. You fools don't stand a chance."

"Yeah," said Gregory, "but we're only playing one pin this time. Not nine."

"Anyway ..." Draco pulled out a piece of parchment. "How we doing this? Alphabetical or descending age?"

Most of the group voted for the latter, so Draco listed the names in order of Theodore, Blaise, Vincent, Draco, Harry, and Gregory. Then he set up a single skittles-pin in the middle of the large, circular room, and backed off approximately twenty-five feet towards the throwing line.

"Let's see what you got," Draco told Theodore, who stepped up and took hold of the cheese. Theodore took the first throw and just about managed to hit the pin, after which the cheese flew back towards the throwing line, and the skittles pin returned to where Draco had placed it.

"Cool," said Harry.

"You weren't expecting us to reset it like Muggles, were you?" said Blaise. He stepped forward and swung the cheese, hitting the pin right in its centre. "That's what I'm talking about! Who's next?"

Vincent stepped up and took a heavy-handed throw, which missed the pin by over a foot.

"Let me show you how it's done," said Draco. He caught the cheese as it came flying back, then made a flamboyant throw which hit the pin right on its upper half. "Yeah!"

"Focus," said Theodore, though it was too late as Draco (who was too busy celebrating with his back to the pin) got smacked in the back of his head by the returning cheese.

"Ouch!"

"That's what you get for showing off," said Theodore.

Next up was Harry, whose nerves got the better of him as he missed the pin by over a foot. Gregory missed as well, leaving the standings at Theodore, Blaise, and Draco on three lives each; and Vincent, Harry, and Gregory on two lives each by the end of the first round. The match continued with Theodore and Harry being the only ones to hit the target during the second round, and Draco and Blaise hitting it thereafter.

"Round four," Blaise said while sitting on the edge of his bed. "Let's go!"

Vincent and Gregory had both been knocked out of the game by now, while Theodore, Blaise, and Draco were on two lives each, and Harry on one. Then, to everyone's surprise, Harry ended up being the only one to hit the pin during the fourth round, meaning that they all started the following round on one life each.

"Well, boys," said Draco. "This could be the decider."

"Don't be so sure," said Theodore. He stepped forward and swung the cheese ... which missed the pin by a over a foot. "Oh, come on!"

Blaise laughed, though his shot went off target as well.

"Looks like it's just us now," Draco told Harry. "May the best wizard win, eh?"

Draco went first and hit the target, after which Harry swung the cheese as accurately as he could – and missed.

"YES!" said Draco, snatching up the bowl of silver Sickles and waving it around in celebration. "Who's the best, huh? Who's the best? I WIN!"

Theodore shook his head. "It's just thirty Sickles, Draco. Why are you acting like Weasley?" Then he turned to face Harry and said, "And why are you so upset? God, you people are taking this game _way_ too seriously."

What none of Harry's roommates were aware of, however, was that losing to Draco had reminded Harry of his bad old Muggle-days. All that was missing was Draco being fatter and looking like a pig, and he'd be Dudley Dursley all over again.

"Look," Theodore said to Harry, "if you were a Weasley, we'd understand. Missing out on thirty Sickles would be like losing the lottery –"

"You can't lose the lottery," said Blaise.

"You know what I mean!" said Theodore, punching Blaise on the shoulder.

Draco, meanwhile, shook his bowl so that the Sickles jingled within. Then a mischievous grin crept onto his face as he said, "Imagine if we pranked Weasley with some money."

"Let's do it right now!" said Blaise. "Who's in?"

Everyone but Harry agreed. The latter wanted nothing to do with some delinquent scheme that could end up costing them house points. So he excused himself and left to join Daphne and the rest at their common-room table.

"What's going on?" Susan asked Harry, as the latter's roommates rushed out the common room together. "Looks like they're up to something again."

But before Harry could respond, he was interrupted by Prefect Burke standing up from a couch and approaching the table.

"My thoughts exactly," Prefect Burke said. "What's the deal with those roommates of yours, Potter?"

 _"_ No idea."

Prefect Burke gave a slight sigh. "Listen here – if those idiots are doing something that could cost us house points, I need to know. I'm sick and tired of playing second fiddle to Ravenclaw."

Harry failed to think up a convincing enough lie that would get Prefect Burke off his back. Fortunately, he was spared the indecency of being a tell-tale as Yasmin spoke up from her spot at the fireplace.

"You can't expect him to snitch on his roommates," she said. "Take some help and go look for Malfoy yourself, if it's bothering you so much."

"Yeah!" said Daphne, waving her fists behind Prefect Burke's back. "Leave Harry alone!"

"Fine," said Prefect Burke. "I'll find those idiots myself, then."

And he left the common room in a hurry.

Later that day, Harry's roommates returned to the common room flushed with success. Draco told of how they had hidden themselves at a T-junction on the sixth floor, and how Theodore dropped a Sickle just as Longbottom and Weasley walked past.

"... should've seen the Weasel go in circles!" Draco said. "Wonder if he's still searching?"

"And Longbottom?" Pansy asked through her fit of giggles. "What did he do?"

"Nothing, of course. What more could you expect from a useless lump?"

Daphne, meanwhile, turned to look at Harry sitting beside her on the couch. "And now? What you daydreaming about?"

"Work."

"Transfiguration, right?"

"Yep."

Daphne made an exaggerated yawn and said, "Booooring."

* * *

Nothing much happened over the next two weeks, unless you counted an increase in work, Susan's birthday, and some Valentine's Day celebration that none of the first-years cared about. However, on the second-last Saturday of the month, teams Gryffindor and Hufflepuff played a thriller of a match which ended on a hundred and thirty to two hundred and forty in favour of Hufflepuff.

"I kind of feel sorry for him, you know?" Harry told Daphne, as everyone watched Kenneth Towler land and then slam his Cleansweep Seven on the ground (many Slytherins guffawed). "I mean, he was _this_ close to catching the Snitch."

"Who cares?" said Daphne. "You snooze, you lose. End of story. Goodbye."

Marcus Flint, however, felt anything but 'sorry' for the Gryffindors. He rushed ahead of the Slytherin crowd as everyone made their way up to the castle, and yelled at the dejected Team Gryffindor walking ahead.

"Thanks a lot, losers! Now the Duffers are going into our final on a high!"

"Two points from Slytherin, Flint!" Prefect Weasley said as he broke away from the Gryffindor crowd. "And don't let me catch you –"

"Ah, shut up, Weasley," said Prefect Burke, much to the first-years' surprise. "Go play with your rat, or something."

"Yeah, get lost," said Marcus.

Prefect Weasley shook his head and kept on walking.

In the days that followed, the Slytherin prefects rallied their house to do whatever it took to stave off Hufflepuff and catch up to Ravenclaw in the House Championship. None of the Slytherins wished to see their win streak come to an end, though the seventh-years were particularly fierce about it.

"Listen here," Prefect Abberton said to the rest of the house one evening in the common room. "We've scored that Cup every single year since my first, and I intend to keep it that way, _understand_?"

Murmurs of agreement could be heard.

"Exactly," said Prefect Vance at the fireplace. He was reading _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7_ beside the short, burly sixth-year prefect Ruben Macmillan on the couch. "No way am I going a single year without seeing green and silver at the end. And there's only a few months left to fix this mess, fools!"

"Relax, man," said Marcus on the opposite couch. "What's the gap? Fifty-something?"

"Seventy-six. And those geniuses aren't looking to slow down any time soon."

Marcus rubbed his chin and stared at the ceiling. "So ... worst case is they gap us by over a hundred –"

"Don't jinx it!" said Prefect Macmillan. Marcus scoffed.

"Whatever. I'll just make sure the Duffers know their place next month. Simple."

* * *

As they moved into March Harry couldn't help but notice the overall standard of Defence Against the Dark Arts sinking further by the week. Not only was Professor Quirrell looking increasingly pale and thin, but he was also getting more and more distracted during each of his lessons. However, try as Harry might, he simply could not get Professor Snape to take the matter to Dumbledore.

"For the last time, Potter, will you stop pestering me in my office?" Snape said one afternoon in mid-March. He was sitting at his desk and looked ready to throw Harry out of the room. "Don't make me repeat myself again; Professor Quirrell's lessons are perfectly acceptable by first-year standards!"

"And what about the rest of the school, sir?"

" _That_ is none of your concern," said Snape. Then, to Harry's surprise, he pulled open one of his desk drawers and withdrew a faded envelope. "Here, why don't you keep that fat head of yours occupied with your fan mail instead?"

Harry took the letter and saw that it was, indeed, addressed to him. "Wait, how come I didn't get this personally, then?"

"Because it was sent to Dumbledore, who then passed it on to me," said Snape. "Now leave. And don't bother asking about that stupid letter, Potter."

Harry left the office so fast that he barely even noticed Snape waving the latter's wand, slamming the door shut once Harry had stepped into the corridor. Just who, exactly, had sent Harry this letter? And why had they taken the long route instead of owling him directly? Harry was so caught up in his thoughts that he nearly collided with Pansy at the common-room entrance.

"Hey! Watch where you're going!" Pansy said, waving a fist at Harry as he walked past. Then she saw the envelope in Harry's hands and gasped. "Ohhhh! Who's that from? Your Muggles?"

"Not sure, actually."

Pansy ushered Harry into the room and said, "Well, come on, then! Let's open it already!"

So much for privacy. Harry made his way to one of the vacant tables to the right, where he sat down and opened his letter, which read:

_Dear Harry Potter,_

_I know I'm way too late to the party but ... congrats on making Slytherin!_ (There was a smiley face drawn here.) _It really is one of the best houses at Hogwarts, though that's not to say the others are totally worthless. They're all decent in the end._

_How's your studies? Keeping up with the pace? I know Potions and Transfiguration can get particularly difficult throughout the year. But don't worry, you can be the best wizard at Hogwarts if you put your mind to it. Reach for the sky!_

_Here's hoping you do well and pass with flying colours. I'll be keeping an eye (or rather, an ear) on you in the meantime._

_Regards,_

_'M'_

"Wow," Harry said as he placed the letter on the table. "That was, er –"

"Weird," Pansy said. "Do you know this 'M' person? Think it stands for 'Muggle'?"

Harry had half a mind to say that the Dursleys would never ever send such a letter, _ever_. But seeing as he was avoiding that can of worms like the plague, Harry simply shook his head and said, "No, they wouldn't really know much about what goes on here."

"But didn't you say you mailed them a few times?"

Harry felt a slight rush in his chest. He'd almost forgotten about that stupid lie he'd told his classmates in recent weeks. "Er, yeah. But, erm ... just read this again. Does it really sound like something a Muggle would send?"

Pansy re-read the letter. "Nah, it's definitely someone who knows this place." Then she gasped, and cupped her mouth. "Oh no! You've got a stalker!"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah!" said Pansy. "Someone's tracking you like a hawk. Now that's just _creepy_. What a loser."

But Harry wasn't creeped out at all. In fact, he felt an odd tinge in his chest after being told that he could potentially be the best wizard at Hogwarts. Whoever this 'M' person was, Harry had a good feeling about them.

"It's still a nice letter, though, isn't it?"

"Maybe," said Pansy. "But it's still creepy."

So now Harry was faced with the biggest mystery of the year, apart from the third-floor corridor on the right – which he'd essentially forgotten about. Just who was 'M', and why had they chosen to remain anonymous in their letter? Harry and the rest of his group spent many days discussing their newfound mystery.

"Well," said Draco one morning after breakfast. "It's definitely not Mother or Father, because a Malfoy doesn't hide."

"Plus," said Pansy, "it's way too informal to be your mom or dad."

Susan sighed. "Would you stop saying it so? It's M – U – M. 'Mum'."

"Shut up!" said Pansy. "Mum, mom, mommy! I'll say it however I want!" And then she stuck out her tongue at Susan.

Tracey, meanwhile, ignored the pair as they rounded a corner in the first-floor corridor. "Maybe 'M's deliberately writing that way? It could be a staff member, for all we know. Let's list M-names!"

"Hmm ..." Susan started counting on her fingers as she spoke. "Minerva McGonagall, Madam Hooch, Madam Pomfrey, Madam Pince ... not sure who else."

"What about Madam Rosmerta?" Daphne asked. "You know, that lady who runs the Three Broomsticks?"

"She's not Hogwarts staff, silly," Pansy said.

"So? 'M' did say they're keeping tabs on Harry, didn't they? And I bet Madam Rosmerta hears loads of things from the staff!"

Daphne's theory was pretty solid, to be honest, and even Harry took it into consideration.

"She could be right, you know."

Daphne beamed. "I _am_ right! Plus, it wouldn't be too hard for Madam Rosmerta to be all informal and stuff. She ain't so antwacky, from what I've heard."

But despite their theories, none of the group could come to a firm conclusion regarding Harry's mysterious sender. It didn't help that Snape had forbidden Harry from even asking about the letter, leaving Harry with no choice but to approach Professor McGonagall at the first available opportunity.

"Interesting," Professor McGonagall said one Monday afternoon after Transfiguration. She had just finished reading Harry's letter on her desk and was staring at it with narrowed eyes. "But I can assure you that I am not the sender, Potter. Have you taken this up with Professor Dumbledore?"

"I'd rather not make a nuisance of myself again," Harry said. "Wait, can't you check the handwriting, Professor?"

Professor McGonagall explained that none of the teachers made it a habit of storing their students' assignments. Hence there were no samples to use as a reference.

"And assuming this person even exists," she added. "How can you be so sure as to the honesty of their words?"

Harry stared at the desk.

"I'm sorry, Potter," Professor McGonagall said. "But this will have to be brought to the Headmaster's attention. Off you go, now."

Feeling more uncertain than ever, Harry relinquished his letter and exited Professor McGonagall's classroom deep in thought. He spent much of his evening wondering about 'M', and Professor McGonagall's words. Was there truly someone out there who seemed to have taken an interest in Harry's performance? And if so, who were they? And what was their intention?

Tuesday passed in a haze of classes, homework, and games (although Defence Against the Dark Arts was in a category of its own), after which Harry and the rest had a decent Wednesday morning, followed by Herbology and Transfiguration in the afternoon.

"Potter," Professor McGonagall said as the rest of the Slytherins filed out the classroom. "A word, please."

Harry had no idea what to expect upon approaching Professor McGonagall's desk upfront.

"Might I ask as to why you've failed to inform me that Professor Dumbledore has already seen this letter?" Professor McGonagall asked. "I do not appreciate wasting the Headmaster's time."

Harry stared at the desk.

"In any case," said Professor McGonagall, "you needn't worry over this whole 'M' thing."

"I'm not worried," said Harry. "I just want to know who it is."

Professor McGonagall shook her head. "I'm afraid I cannot tell you."

Despite feeling a rush of heat in his chest, Harry kept calm as he asked for a clue. Professor McGonagall smiled.

"Very well," she said while placing her arms on her desk. "Care killed the cat after all. Let's see ... this person was a student at Hogwarts."

"That's ... not really helpful at all, Professor."

"The 'M' happens to be the first letter of this person's name," said Professor McGonagall. She seemed to be enjoying herself with this game, despite being as strict and stern as ever.

Harry groaned. "This is like trying to get into the Ravenclaw common room." (Professor McGonagall raised a brow.) "Not that I ever tried it, of course!"

"Final clue," said Professor McGonagall. "This person spends a fair portion of her time alone at home."

"Isn't that two clues, Professor?"

The corners of Professor McGonagall's mouth twitched. "Perhaps, but I think this ought to be enough, Potter. Just know that 'M' is genuine in her words."

Understanding himself to be dismissed, Harry grabbed his letter and left the classroom. It was a strange feeling to know that someone out there was genuinely interested in his progress at school, so Harry resolved to pick up his studies and live up to the expectations. Petunia be damned. This 'M' woman was already starting to feel like family to Harry.


End file.
